THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 

GIFT  OF 
MRS.    JOHN  A.    BELL 


<3 , 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAET. 


A  NEW  UNIFORM  EDITION. 


POPULAR     NOVELS 

BY 

AUGUSTA  EVANS  WILSON. 


1.  INEZ $1.50 

2.  BEULAH 1.50 

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"Who  has  not  read  with  rare  delight  the  novels  of  Augusta 

Evans?    Her  strange,  wonderful  and  fascinating  style; 

the  profound  depths  to  which   she  sinks  the  probe 

into    human    nature,    touching    its    most    sacred 

chords  and  springs;  the  intense  interest  thrown 

around  her  characters,  and  the  very  marked 

peculiarities   of   her  principal  figures, 

conspire  to  give  an  unusual  interest 

to   the  works   of   this   eminent 

Southern  authoress." 


All  published  uniform  with  this  volume,  and  sent  FREE 
by  HI  ail,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

G.   W.   BILLINGHAM    C©.,   PUBLISHEES, 
NEW  YORK. 


VASHTI; 


OR, 


"UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART." 

a  Navel 


BY 

AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS, 

AUTHOR  OF 

"MACAKIA,"  "ST.  ELMO," 


*  But  I  havo  not  growu  easy  in  those  bonds,  - 
jiut  J.'  ha?e  not  doniod  wiai  boucls  tUeao  were. 


NEW    YORK? 
G,     W*    Dillingham     Co',,    Publishers. 


Fntsr».d  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  »8fiq5  TV;; 
GEORGE  W.  CARLETON, 

.  Ciprk's  Offkn  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  Statts  for  thp  S 
District  of  New  York. 


Antnred  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1897,  By 

MRS.  AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS  WILSON, 
*.«  thf,  offic*  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington.  Do 


THE  HOKOREV  MEMO  It?   OF 


WHOSE  DEATH  fliS  RETARDED  TUB  COMPLETION  OI    A   WOKE 

WHICH,  IN  THE  BEGINNING,  WAS  KLKSSBD 

WITH  HIS  APPROVAL, 

ft    EEVTEBBNTLY    DEDICATE    THIS    BOOK. 


PEE  FACE. 


"Every  man  has  his  own  style,  as  he  has  his  own  nose  ;  and  it  is 
neither  polite  nor  Christian  to  rally  an  honest  man  about  his  nose, 
however  singular  it  may  be.  How  can  I  help  it  that  my  style  is  not 
different?  That  there  is  no  affectation  in  it,  I  am  very  certain." 

Lessing. 

"  Yea,  I  take  myself  to  witness, 
That  I  have  loved  no  darkness, 
Sophisticated  no  truth, 
Nursed  no  delusion, 

Allowed  no  fear." 

Matthew  Arnold. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 


CHAPTER   I. 


CAN  hear  the  sullen,  savage  roar  of  the  breakers,  if 
I  do  not  see  them,  and  my  pretty  painted  bark  — 
expectation  —  is  bearing  down  helplessly  upon  them. 
Perhaps  the  unwelcome  will  not  come  to-day.  What  then  ?  I 
presume  I  should  not  care ;  and  yet,  I  am  curious  to  see  him,  — 
anxioiis  to  know  what  sort  of  person  will  henceforth  rule  the 
house,  and  go  in  and  out  here  as  master.  Of  course  the  pleasant, 
peaceful  days  are  at  an  end,  for  men  always  make  din  and  strife 
in  a  household,  —  at  least  my  father  did,  and  he  is  the  only  one  I 
know  much  about.  But,  after  all,  why  borrow  trouble  ?  —  the 
interloper  may  never  come." 

The  girl  stood  on  tiptoe,  shading  her  eyes  with  one  hand,  and 
peering  eagerly  down  the  winding  road  which  stretched  at  right 
angles  to  the  avenue,  and  over  the  hills,  on  towards  the  neigh 
boring  town.  No  moving  speck  was  visible;  and,  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  she  sank  back  on  the  grassy  mound  and  resumed  the 
perusal  o^  her  book.  Above  and  around  her  spread  the  wide 
brandies  of  an  aged  apple-tree,  feathered  thickly  with  pearly 
petals,  which  the  wind  tossed  hither  and  thither  and  drifted  over 
il;e  bermuda,  as  restless  tides  strew  pink-chambred  shells  oa 
.doping  strands^  and  down  through  the  flowery  limbs  streamed 
die  waning  March  sun,  throwing  grotesque  shadows  on  the 
sward  ami  golden  ripples  over  the  face  and  iigure  of  the  young 
lounger.  A  few  yards  distant  a  row  of  whitewashed  bee-liivea 
extended  along  the  western  side  of  the  garden-wall,  where 
perched  a  peacock  whose  rainbow  hues  were  burnished  by  the 


10  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

glanting  rays  fcliat  smote  like  flame  the  narrow  pane  of  glass 
which  constituted  a  window  in  each  hive  and  permitted  invea 
tigpvtion  of  ths  tireless  workers  witliin.  The  afternoon  was 
almost  spent ;  the  air,  losing  its  balmy  noon  breath,  grew  chill 
with  the  approach  of  dew,  and  the  figure  under  the  apple-iras 
shivered  slightly,  and,  closing  her  book,  drew  her  scarlet  shawl, 
around  her  shoulders  and  leaned  her  dimpled  chin  on  her  knee. 

Sixteen  years  had  ripened  and  rounded  the  girlish  form,  und 
given  to  her  countenance  that  indefinable  charm  which  marks  the 
timid  hoveling  between  careless,  frolicsome  youth,  and  calmly 
conscious  womanhood  ;  while  perfect  health  rouged  the  polished 
cheeks  and  vermilioned  the  thin  lips,  whose  outlines  sharply 
indexed  more  of  decision  than  amiability  of  character. 

There  were  hints  of  brown  in  the  heavy  mass  of  waveless 
dusky  hair,  that  was  elaborately  braided  and  coiled  around  the 
well  turned  head,  and  certain  amber  rays  suggestive  of  topaz 
and  gold  flashed  out  now  and  then  in  the  dark-hazel  iris  of  the 
large  eyes,  lending  them  an  eldritch  and  baleful  glow.  Fresh  as 
the  overhanging  apple-blooms,  but  immobile  as  if  carved  from 
pearl,  —  perhaps  it  was  just  such  a  face  as  hers  that  fronted 
Jason,  amid  the  clustering  boughs  of  Colchian  rhododendrons, 
when  first  he  sought  old  Petes'  prescient  daughter,  —  the  maiden 
face  of  magical  Met  tea,  innocent  as  yet  of  murder,  sacrilege, 
fratricide,  and  plunder, —  -eloquent  of  all  possibilities  of  purity 
and  peace,  but  vaguely  adumbrating  all  conceivable  disquietude 
and  guilt. 

The  hushed  expectancy  of  the  fair  young  countenance  had 
given  place  to  a  dreamy  languor,  and  the  dark  lashas  drooped 
Eeavily,  when  a  long  shadow  fell  upon  the  grass,  and  simulta 
neously  the  peacock  sounded  its  shrill  alarum.  Rising  quickly 
the  girl  found  herself  faje  to  face  with  one  upon  whose  features 
she  had  never  looked  before,  and  for  a  moment  each  eyed  the 
other  searchinglv.  The  stranger  raised  his  hat,  and  inc lit  ing  Li* 
head  slightly,  said,  — 

"  Permit  me  to  ask  your  name  ?  " 

"Salome  Owen.     And  yours,  sir,  is  —  " 

"Ulpian  Grey." 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART.  II 

For  a  few  seconds  neither  spoke ;  but  the  man  smiled,  and  the 
girl  bit  her  under-lip  and  frowned. 

"Are  you  the  miller's  daughter?  " 

"  T  am  the  miller's  daughter ;  and  you  are  the  master  of 
Grassinere." 

"  It  seems  that  1  come  home  like  Kip  Van  Winkle,  or  Uljs 
&3S,  unknown,  unwelcomed,  —  unlike  the  latter,  —  even  bv  t 
dog." 

"  Where  is  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Not  having  seen  her  for  five  years,  I  am  unable  to  answsr." 

"  She  went  to  town  two  hours  ago,  to  meet  you." 

"  Then,  after  all,  I.  am  expected ;  but  pray  by  what  route  — 
balloon  or  telegraph  ?  " 

"  Miss  Jane  went  to  the  railroad  depot,  but  thought  it  possi 
ble  you  might  not  arrive  to-day,  and  said  she  would  attend  a 
meeting  at  the  church,  if  you  failed  to  come.  I  presume  she 
missed  you  in  the  crowd.  Sir,  will  you  walk  into  the  house  ?  " 

Perhaps  he  did  not  hear  the  question,  and  certainly  he  did 
not  heed  it,  amid  the  clamorous  recollections  that  rushed  upon 
him  as  he  gazed  earnestly  over  the  lawn,  down  the  avenue,  and 
up  at  the  ivy-mantled  front  of  the  old  brick  homestead.  Think 
ing  it  might  impress  him  as  ludicrous  or  officious  that  she 
should  invite  him  to  enter  and  take  possession  of  his  own 
establishment,  Salome  reddened  and  compressed  her  lips.  Ap 
parently  forgetful  of  her  presence,  he  stood  with  his  hat  in  hia 
hand,  noting  the  changes  that  time  had  wrought :  the  growth  of 
venerable  trees  and  favorite  shrubs,  the  crumbling  of  fences, 
the  gathering  moss  on  the  sun-dial,  and  the  lichen  stains  upon 
two  marble  vases  that  held  scarlet  verbena  on  either  side  of 
the  broad  stone  steps. 

His  close-fitting  travelling  suit  of  gray  showed  the  muscultir, 
well-developed  form  of  a  man  of  medium  size,  whose  very  eree; 
carnage  enhanced  his  height  and  invested  him  with  a  command 
ing  air ;  while  the  unusual  breadth  of  his  chest  and  shoulders 
seemed  to  indicate  that  life  had  called  him  to  athletic  out-door 
pursuits,  rather  than  the  dun  and  dusty  atmosphere  of  a  seden 
tary,  cloistered  career. 


12  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART 

There  are  subtle  countenances  that  baffle  the  dainty  stipple 
and  line  tracery  of  time,  refusing  to  become  mere  tablets,  mer* 
fleshy  intaglios  of  the  past,  whereon  eve^y  curious  stranger  may 
spell  out  the  bygone,  and,  counting  their  footprints,  cast  up  the 
number  of  engraving  years.  Thus  it  happened  that  if  Salora* 
had  not  known  from  the  family  Bible  that  this  man  was  alracw? 
thirty-five,  her  eager  scrutiny  of  his  features  would  have  dis 
covered  little  concerning  his  age,  and  still  less  concerning  his 
character.  Exposure  to  the  winds  and  heat  of  tropic  regions 
had  darkened  and  sallowed  the  complexion,  which  his  clear  deep 
blue  eyes  and  light  brown  hair  declared  was  originally  of  Saxon 
fairness;  in  proof  whereof,  when  he  drew  off  one  glove  and 
lifted  his  hand  it  seemed  as  if  the  marble  fingers  of  one  statue 
were  laid  against  the  bronze  cheek  of  another. 

Looking  intently  at  this  grave  yob  benignant  countenance,  full 
of  serenity,  because  calmly  conscious  of  its  power,  the  girl  set 
her  teeth  and  ground  her  heel  into  the  velvet  turf,  for  franga* 
nonflectes  was  written  on  his  smooth,  broad  brow,  and  she  felt 
fiercely  rebellious  as  some  fiery,  free  creature  of  the  Kamse, 
when  first  confronted  with  the  bit  and  trappings  of  him  who 
will  henceforth  bridle  and  tame  the  desert-bred. 

Waking  from  his  brief  reverie,  the  stranger  turned  and 
extended  his  hand,  saying,  in  tones  as  low  and  sweet  as  a 
woman's,  — 

"  Will  you  not  welcome  a  wanderer  back  to  his  home  ?  " 

She  gave  him  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  but  the  "Imp  of  the 
Perverse  "  dictated  her  answer,  — 

"  As  you  saw  fit  to  compare  yourself,  a  few  moments  since,  to 
certain  celebrated  absentees,  I  am  constrained  to  tell  you  that  J 
happen  to  be  neither  Penelope  nor  Gretchen,  nor  yet  the  illus 
trious  dog  referred  to." 

He  smiled  good-humoredly,  and  replied,  — 

"  I  am  not  very  sure  that  there  is  not  a  Bpice  of  Dame  Van 
Winkle  somewhere  in  your  nature.  True,  we  are  strangers,  but 
I  believe  you  are  my  sister's  adopted  child,  and  I  hope  you  are 
glad  to  see  he*-  brother  at  home  once  more.  Jane  is  a  dear  kind 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  13 

(mk,  who  should  make  us  at  least  gcod  friends ;  for,  if  you  are 
attached  to  her  you  will  in  time  learn  to  like  me." 

c;  I  doubt  it,  —  seeing  that  you  resemble  Miss  Jane  about  as 
nearly  as  I  do  the  Grand  3>ma  of  Larissa,  or  the  idol  Bhftdri- 
•«%,  But,  sir,  although  it  in  not  my  office  to  welcome  yous  I 
presume  you  have  not  forgotten  the  front  door,  and  once  more- 
1  ask,  Will  you  walk  in  and  make  yourself  at  home  in  your  OWE 
fcouso?" 

As  she  led  the  way  to  the  steps,  the  arched  gate  at  the  end  of 
the  avenue  swung  open,  a  carriage  entered,  and  Salome  retreated 
to  her  own  room,  leaving  unwitnessed  the  happy  meeting  be 
tween  an  aged,  infirm  sister,  and  long-absent  brother. 

Locking  the  door  to  secure  herself  from  intrusion,  she  drew 
a  low  rocking-chair  to  the  hearth,  where  smouldered  the  embers 
of  a  dying  fire,  and  dropping  her  face  in  her  palms,  stared 
abstractedly  at  the  ashes.  As  she  swayed  slowly  to  and  fro,  her 
lips  parted  and  closed,  her  brows  bent  from  their  customary 
curves  of  beauty,  and  half  insudibly  she  muttered,  — 

"  The  sceptre  is  departing  from  Judah.  My  rule  is  well  nigh 
ended;  the  interregnum  has  been  brief,  and  the  old  dynasty 
reigns  once  more.  Just  what  I  dreaded  from  the  hour  I  heard 
he  was  coming  home.  I  shall  be  reduced  to  a  mere  cipher,  and 
made  to  realize  my  utter  dependence,  —  and  the  iron  will  soon 
enter  my  soul.  We  paupers  are  adepts  in  the  art  of  reading  the 
countenance,  and  I  have  looked  at  this  Uipian  Grey  long  enough 
to  know  that  I  might  as  well  bombard  Gibraltar  with  I  oiled 
peas  as  hope  to  conquer  one  of  his  whims  or  alter  one  of  his 
purposes.  There  will  be  bitterness  and  strife  between  >is.  I 
Khali  wish  him  in  his  grave  a  thousand  times  before  it  closes 
over  him,  —  and  he,  unless  ho  is  too  good,  will  hate  UK-  cor 
lially.  I  cannot  and  will  not  give  up  all  my  hopes  and  expecta 
tions,  without  a  long,  fierce  struggle." 

Salome  Owen  was  the  eldest  of  five  children,  who,  by  the 
death  of  both  parents,  had  been  thrown  penniless  upon  tho 
world,  and  found  a  temporary  asylum  in  the  county  poor-he  ise. 
tier  mother  she  remembered  merely  as  a  feeble,  fractious  in 
valid;  and  her  father,  who  had  long  been  employed  as  super 
9 


14  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Lntendent  of  large  mills  belonging  to  Miss  Jane  Grey,  had,  aftei 
years  of  reckless  intemperance,  ended  his  wretched  career  in  « 
fit  of  mania  a  pofra.  His  death  occurred  at  a  season  when  Miss 
Grey  was  confined  to  her  bed  by  an  attack  of  rheumatism, 
vhich  rendered  her  a  cripple  for  the  remainder  of  her  days;  but 
the  first  hours  of  her  convalescence  were  spent  in  devising  plan? 
for  the  education  and  maintenance  of  his  helpless  orphans,  TD 
the  dusty,  cheerless  yard  of  the  poor-house  she  had  found  ihe 
little  group  huddled  under  a  mulberry-tree  one  hot  July  noon ; 
and,  sending  the  two  younger  children  to  the  orphan  asylum  in 
a  neighboring  town,  she  had  apprenticed  one  boy  to  a  worthy 
cai-penter,  another  to  an  eminent  horticulturist  in  a  distant 
State ;  and  Salome,  the  handsomest  and  brightest  of  the  flook, 
she  carried  to  her  own  home  as  an  adopted  child.  Here,  for 
four  years,  the  girl  had  lived  in  peace  and  luxurious  ease,  sur 
rounded  by  all  the  elegances  and  refining  associations  which 
though  not  inherent  in  are  at  the  command  of  wealth ;  and  so 
rapidly  and  gracefully  had  she  fitted  herself  into  the  new  social 
niche,  that  the  dark  and  stormy  morning  of  her  life  had  become 
only  a  dim  and  hideous  recollection,  that  rarely  lifted  its  hated 
visage  above  the  smooth  and  shining  surface  of  the  happy 
present.  * 

Fortuitous  circumstances  constitute  the  moulds  that  shape 
the  majority  of  human  lives,  and  the  hasty  impress  of  an 
accident  is  too  often  regarded  as  the  relentless  decree  of  all- 
ordaining  fate;  while  to  the  philosophic  anthropologist  it  might 
furnish  matter  for  curious  speculation  whether,  if  Attila  and 
Alaric  had  chanced  to  find  themselves  the  pampered  song  of 
some  merchant  prince,  —  some  Rothschild  or  Peabody  of  the 
Sfth  century,  —  their  campaigns  had  not  been  purely  fiscal  and 
bloodless,  limited  to  the  leaves  of  a  ledger,  while  the  names  of 
'.loth  and  Hun  had  never  crystallized  into  synonyms  of  havoc 
*E.d  ruin ;  or  had  Timour  been  trained  to  cabbage-raising  and 
»Tne-drepsing,  whether  he  would  not  have  lived  in  history  as 
che  great  horticulturist  of  Kesth,  or  the  Diocletian  of  Samar- 
cand,  rather  than  the  Tartar  tyrant  and  conqueror  of  the  East? 
How  many  possible  Howards  have  swung  at  Tyburn  ? 


UNTIL   DEATH  US  DO  PART.  la 

oiiiny   canonized   and    halced    heads   have   barely  escaped   th$ 
doom  of  Brinvilliers,  and  the  tender  mercies  of  Carnifex  ? 

Analogous  to  that  wonderful  Gulf  Stream,  once  a  myth  and 
still  a  mystery,  the  strange  current  of  human  existence,  four 
score  and  ten  years  long,  bears  each  and  all  of  us  with  a  strong, 
steady  sweep  away  from  the  tropic  lands  of  sucjiy  childhood, 
enamelled  with  verdure  and  gaudy  with  bloom,  through  th.c 
temperate  regions  of  manhood  and  womanhood,  fruitful  a.'3-l 
harvest-hued,  on  to  the  frigid,  lonely  shores  of  dreary  old  age, 
enow-crowned  and  ice-veined ;  and  individual  destinies  seem  to 
resemble  the  tangled  drift  on  those  broad  bounding  gulf-billows, 
driven  hither  and  thither,  strewn  on  barren  beaches,  scattered 
over  bleaching  coral  crags,  stranded  upon  blue  bergs,  —  precious 
germs  from  all  climes  and  classes ;  some  to  be  scorched  under 
equatorial  heats;  some  to  perish  by  polar  perils;  a  few  to 
take  root  and  flourish  and  triumph,  building  imperishable  land 
marks  ;  and  many  to  stagnate  in  the  long,  inglorious  rest  of  a 
Sargasso  Sea. 

For  all  helpless  human  waifs  in  this  surging  ocean  of  time, 
there  is  comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  the  fiercest  storms  tosa 
their  drift  highest ;  and  one  of  these  apparently  savage  waves  of 
adversity  had  swept  Salome  Owen  safely  to  an  isle  of  palms  and 
peace,  where,  under  the  fostering  rays  of  prosperity,  the  selfish 
and  sordid  elem  jnts  of  her  character  found  rapid  development. 

In  affectionate  natures,  family  ties  serve  as  cords  to  strangle 
selfishness ;  for,  in  large  domestic  circles,  each  member  con 
tributes  a  moiety  to  swell  the  good  of  the  whole  —  silently  en 
dures  some  trial,  makes  some  sacrifice,  shares  some  sympathy 
and  sunshine,  hoards  some  grief  and  gloom,  and  had  Salome 
remained  with  her  brothers  and  sisters,  their  continual  claims 
~j.n.  her  tune  and  attention  would  have  healthfully  diverted 
thougVts  ohat  had  long  centred  solely  in  self.  Finding  that 
fottune  had  temporarily  sheathed  in  velvet  the  goad  of  neces 
sity,  the  girl's  aspirations  soared  no  higher  than  the  maintenance 
of  hf^r  present  easy  and  luxurious  position,  us  a  pet  led  dependent 
on  the  affection  and  bounty  of  a  weak  but  generous  and  lonely 
old  lady.  Having  no  other  object  near,  upon  which  to  lavish 


16  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

the  love  and  caresses  that  were  stored  in  hei  heart,  Miss  Jam 
had  turned  fondly  to  Salome,  and  so  earnestly  endeavored  to 
brighten  her  life,  that  the  latter  felt  assured  she  was  selected  aa 
the  heiress  of  that  house  and  estate  where  she  had  dwelt  se 
happily ;  and  thus  sanguine  concerning  her  future  prospects,  the 
strong  will  of  the  girl  completely  dominated  the  feebler  an  3 
failing  one  of  her  benefactress,  through  whose  fingers  the  reiiu 
of  government  slipped  so  gradually,  that  she  was  unconscicm 
of  her  virtual  abdication. 

From  this  pleasant  dream  of  a  handsome  heritage  and  life 
long  plenty,  Salome  had  been  rudely  aroused  by  the  unwelcome 
tidings  that  a  young  half-brother  of  Miss  Jane  was  corning  to 
reside  under  her  roof;  and  prophetic  fear  whispered  that  the 
tranger  would  contest  and  divide  her  dominion.  A  surgeon 
<a  the  United  States  navy,  he  had  been  absent  for  five  years  in 
distant  seas,  and  only  resigned  his  commission  in  consequence  of 
letters  which  informed  him  of  the  feeble  condition  of  his  only 
surviving  relative.  Those  who  have  eaten  the  bread  of  charity 
learn  to  interpret  countenances  with  an  unerring  facility  that 
eclipses  the  vaunted  skill  of  Lavater,  and  the  girl's  brief  inspec 
tion  of  the  face  which  would  henceforth  confront  her  daily, 
yielded  little  to  dispel  her  gloomy  forebodings.  The  sound  of 
the  tea-bell  terminated  her  reverie,  and  rising,  she  walked  slowly 
to  the  dining-room,  throwing  her  head  as  erect  as  possible,  and 
compressing  her  mouth  like  some  gladiator  summoned  to  the 
fatal  arena  of  the  Coliseum. 

The  dining-room  was  large  and  airy,  with  lofty  wide  win 
dows,  and  neatly  papered  walls,  where  in  numerous  old-fashioned 
and  quaintly  carved  frames  hung  the  ancestral  portraits  of  the 
family.  Although  one  window  was  open,  and  the  mild  air 
laden  with  the  perfumed  breath  of  spring,  a  bright  wood  fire 
dashed  on  the  hearth,  near  which  Miss  Jane  sat  in  her  large, 
cushioned  rocking-chair,  resting  her  swollen  slippered  feet  on  a 
velvet  stool,  while  her  silver -mounted  crutches  leaned  against 
the  arm  of  her  chair.  An  ugly  and  very  diminutive  brown 
terrier  snarled  and  frisked  on  the  nig,  tormenting  a  staid  and 
aged  black  cat,  who  occasionally  arched  her  back  and  showed 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  17 

her  teeth  ;  and  Dr.  Grey  stood  leaning  over  his  sister's  chair, 
smoothing  the  soft  grizzled  locks  that  clustered  under  the  rich 
lace  border  of  her  cap.  He  was  talking  of  other  days,  — 
those  of  his  boyhood,  when,  kneeling  by  that  hearth,  she  had 
pasted  his  kites,  found  strings  for  his  tops,  made  bags  for  his 
rzurbles,  or  bound  up  his  bleeding  hands,  bruised  in  boyish 
"ports ;  and,  while  he  read  from  the  fresher  page  of  his 
;Bemory  the  blessed  juvenile  annals  long  since  effaced  from 
here,  a  happy  smile  lighted  her  withered  face,  and  she  put  up 
one  thin  hand  to  pat  the  brown  and  bearded  cheek  which  nearly 
touched  her  head.  To  the  pretty  young  thing  who  had  paused 
on  the  threshold,  watching  what  passed,  it  seemed  a  peaceful  pic 
ture,  cosy  and  complete,  needing  no  adjuncts,  defying  intruders; 
but  Miss  Jane  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  shrinking  figure,  and 
beckoned  her  to  the  fire-place. 

"  Salome,  come  shake  hands  with  my  sailor-boy,  and  tell  him 
how  glad  we  are  to  have  his  sunburnt  face  once  more  among  us. 
Ulpian,  this  is  my  dear  child  Salome,  who  makes  noise  and  sun 
shine  enough  in  an  otherwise  dark  and  silent  dreary  house. 
Why,  children,  doirt  st.a.nd  bowing  at  each  other,  like  foreign 
ministers  at  court !  Uipian,  you  are  to  be  a  brother  to  that 
child ;  so  go  and  kiss  her  like  a  Christian,  and  let  us  have  no 
more  state  and  ceremony." 

"Sans  ctrenio-nie  we  introduced  ourselves  tliis  afternoon, 
under  the  apple-tree,  and  I  presume  Salome  will  accept  the 
assurance  of  my  friendly  intentions  and  fraternal  regard,  and 
decline  the  seal  which  only  long  acquaintance  and  perfect,  con 
fidence  could  induce  her  to  permit.  Notwithstanding  the  very 
evident  fact  that  she  is  not  entirely  overwhelmed  with  delight 
at  my  return,  I  gratefully  ackcow'edge  my  indebtedness  to  one 
ciio  has  so  largely  contribut*  ^  to  my  sister's  happiness,  and 
snail  avail  myself  of  every  opportunity  to  prove  my  apprecia 
tion  of  h'.r  devotion." 

Dr.  Grey  stepped  forward,  took  Salome's  hand,  ajjd  touched 
ft  lightly  with  his  lips,  while  the  grave  dignity  of  his  mannei1 
forbade  the  thought  that  affectation  of  gallantry  or  idle  persi- 
dago  suggested  the  words  or  action. 


!8  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Disarmed  by  the  quiet  courtesy  which  she  felt  she  had  vet 
merited,  the  girl's  ready  wit  and  nimbly  obedient  tongue  for 
once  proved  treacherous;  and,  conscious  that  the  Hush  w'as  deep 
enlng  on.  cheek  and  brow,  she  moved  to  the  oval  table  in  thf 
centre  of  the  floor,  and  seated  herself  behind  tho  massive  eilver 
•urn. 

"  plpian,  take  your  place  yonder,  at  the  fool,  and  excuse  mv 
absence  fioin  the  table  this  first  evening  of  your  return..  1 
always  have  iny  meals  here,  close  to  the  fire,  and  Salome  pro 
sideti  in  uiy  place.  Child,  put  no  cream  in  his  tea,  but  a  boun 
tiful  share  of  sugar.  You  see,  my  boy,  1  have  not  grown  too 
old  to  recollect  your  whims." 

As  he  obeyed  her,  Salome  was  preparing  to  pour  out  the 
tea;  but,  catching  his  eye,  she  paused,  and  Dr.  Grey  bowed  his 
head  on  his  hand,  and  solemnly  and  impressively  asked  a 
blessing,  and  offered  up  fervent  thanks  for  the  family  reunion. 
Ln  the  somewhat  fragmentary  discourse  that  ensued  between 
brother  and  sister  the  orphan  took  no  part;  and,  a  half  hour 
later,  when  the  little  party  removed  to  the  library  and  estab 
lished  themselves  comfortably  for  the  evening,  Salome  drew  her 
chair  close  to  the  lamp,  and,  under  pretence  of  examining  a  book 
of  engravings,  covertly  studied  the  features  and  mien  of  the 
new-comer. 

His  quiet,  low-toned  conversation  was  of  other  lands  and  dis 
tant  nations,  and,  while  there  was  an  entire  absence  of  that 
ostentatious  braggardism  and  dropsical  egotism  which  unfortu 
nately  attacks  the  majority  Df  travellers,  his  descriptions  of 
foreign  scenery  were  so  graceful  and  brilliant,  that  despite 
her  ungracious  determination  and  premeditated  dislike,  she  l»e- 
came  a  fascinated  listener;  and,  more  than  once,  found  herself 
leaning  foi'ward  to  catch  his  words.  Her  own  vivid  fancy 
travelled  with  him  over  the  lakes  and  isles,  temples  and  palaces, 
he  had  visitsd ;  and,  when  the  clock  struck  eleven,  and  a  brief 
silence  succeeded,  she  started  as  from  some  delightful  dream. 

"  Janet,  shall  we  have  prayers,  or  have  I  already  kept  5  on 
up  too  kt«  ?  " 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PAJRT.  19 

Dr.  Q-rty  stooped  and  pressed  his  lips  to  his  sister's  wrinkled 
forehead,  and  her  voice  faltered  slightly,  as  she  answered,  — 

"  It  is  never  too  late  to  thank  God  for  all  his  goodness,  espe 
cially  in  bringing  my  dear  boy  safely  back  to  me.  Salome,  get 
the  large  Bible  from  the  cushion  in  the  parlor." 

AJI  the  orphan  placed  the  book  in  Dr.  Grey's  hand  it  opened 
;.t  the  record  of  births,  where  on  the  wido  page  appeared  only 
Jit.  name  of  Ulpiau  Grey,  and  from  the  leaves  fluttered  a  small 
i«cw  of  blue  ribbon. 

He  picked  it  up,  and,  considering  it  merely  a  book-mark, 
would  have  replaced  it,  but  Miss  Jane  exclaimed, — 

"  It  is  the  blue  knot  that  fastens  that  child's  collar.  Give  it 
to  her.  She  lo:st  it  yesterday,  and  has  searched  the  house  for  it. 
How  came  it  in  that  old  Bible,  which  I  am  sure  has  not  been 
used  for  hfteen  years?  " 

Whatever  solution  of  the  mystery  Salome  mi^ht  have  deigned 
to  offer,  remained  unuttered,  for  Dr.  Grey  kindly  obviated  the 
necessity  of  a  reply  by  requesting  her  to  bring  him  an  addi 
tional  candle  from  an  adjoining  room;  and  t.he  superfluous 
celerity  with  which  she  .started  on  the  errand  called  a  twinkle 
to  his  eye  and  a  half-smothered  smile  to  hL  lips.  She  felt 
ftBBured  that  he  was  thoroughly  cognizant  of  tho  curiosity  \\iuch 
Lr.d  prompted  her  researches  among  tho  family  records,  and 
inferred  that  he.  had  either  no  vanity  to  be  fluttered  by  such 
trifles,  or  was  dowered  with  too  much  generosity  to  evince  any 
gratification  at  the  discovery  of  an  interest  she  would  have 
rehem3iitly  disclaimed. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  bowed  before  the  family 
altar,  and,  notwithstanding  her  avowed  aversion  to  "  Puritanic 
ceremonials  and  Pharisaical  practices,"  she  was  unexpectedly 
-.v.'ed  and  deeply  impressed  by  the  solemnity  with  which  he 
''.onducted  the  brief  services;  while,  despite  her  prejudice,  liia 
grave  courtesy  toward  her,  and  the  subdued  tenderness  that 
marked  his  treatment  of  his  sister,  commandtd  her  involuntary 
respect.  When  she  stood  before  the  mirror  in  her  ovrn  room, 
!.U'a>tTi.iding  her  heavy  hair,  a  dissatisfied  expulsion  robbed  her 


20  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

features  of  half  their  loveliness,  and  discontent  ploughed  di* 
torting  lines  about  the  scarlet  lips  whiuu  muttered,  — 

"  I  wonder  if,  in  onu  of  his  evil  fits,  my  father  sold  and  signed 
Qi3  away  to  Satan  ?  I  certainly  am  bon  t/re  mal  gre  in  bondage 
to  him ;  for,  from  my  inmost  heart  I  hate  '  good,  pious,  sancti 
fied  souls,'  such  as  that  marble  man  upstairs,  who  has  come 
back  to  usurp  my  kingdom,  and  lord  it  over  this  heritage. 
After  to-day  &  new  regime.  The  potter's  hands  are  fair  and 
ahapely,  courteous  and  deft,  but  potter's  hands  nevertheless. 
Tough  kneading  he  shall  find  it,  and  stiffer  clay  than  ever  yet 
was  moulded,  or  my  name  is  not  Salome  Owen.  After  all,  how 
much  better  are  we  than  the  lower  beasts  of  prey  ?  In  the 
race  for  riches  there  is  but  one  alternative,  —  to  devour,  or  be 
devoured;  consequently  that  was  an  immemorial  and  well 
tested  rule  in  the  warfare  that  commenced  when  Adam  and  Eve 
found  themselves  shut  out  of  Eden.  '  Each  for  himself,'  <fcc., 
&c.,  <fcc.  Since  1  must  ex  necessitate  prey  or  be  preyed  upon,  I 
shall  waste  no  time  in  deliberation." 


CHAPTER  II. 

[HEN  fifty-two  years  old,  Daniel  Grey  amassed  * 
handsome  fortune  by  speculating  in  certain  gold  and 
coal  mine  stocks,  which  not  only  relieved  him  from  the 
necessity  of  daily  toil  in  his  dusty  counting-room,  but  elevated 
aim  to  that  more  than  Branainical  caste,  dubbed  in  Mamrnon- 
purlance  —  capitalists ;  whose  decrees  outweigh  legislative 
statutes,  and.  by  feeling  the  pulse  of  stock-boards  and  all 
financial  corporations,  regulate  the  fiscal  currents  of  the  State. 
A  few  months  subsequent  to  this  sudden  accession  of  wealth, 
his  meek  and  devoted  wife  —  who  had  patiently  shared  all  the 
trials  and  hardships  of  his  early  impecunious  career,  and 
brightened  an  humble  home  which  boasted  no  treasure  cam- 


UNTTL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  21 

parable  to  her  loving,  unselfisn  heart,  —  was  summoned  to  th« 
enjoyment  of  a  heritage  beyond  the  stars;  and  Daniel  G;ey, 
<?apitalist,  foiind  himself  a  llorid  handsome  widower,  with  :wo 
children,  Enocli  arid  Jane,  to  remind  him.  continually  of  ths 
pale  wife  over  whose  quiet  ashes  rose  a  costly  roausolt  urn, 
where  rare  exotics  nodded  to  each  other  across  gilded  slab  soxd 
sculptured  angels.  That  he  profoundly  mourned  his  loss  no 
charitable  mind  could  doubt,  notwithstanding  the  obstinate  fact 
;hat  ere  the  violets  had  bloomed  a  twelvemonth  over  the  dead 
mother  of  his  children  he  had  provided  them  with  one  who 
certainly  bore  her  name,  usurped  her  precious  privileges, 
walked  in  her  footsteps,  but  wo  fully  failed  to  fill  her  place. 

Mrs.  Daniel  Grey,  scarcely  the  senior  of  the  step-daughter 
jvhose  lips  most  rehictantly  framed  the  sacred  word  "  mother," 
was  a  fresh  t'air  young  thing,  whose  ideas  of  marriage 
extended  no  further  than  diamonds,  white  satin,  reception 
cards,  and  bridal  presents ;  and  whose  regard  for  her  worthy 
husband  sought  no  surer  basis  than  his  bank-stock  and  insurance 
dividends.  Dainty  and  bright,  in  tasteful  and  costly  apparel, 
the  pretty  child-wife  flitted  up  and  down  in  his  house  and 
over  the  serene  surface  of  his  life,  touching  no  feeling  of  his  nature 
BO  deeply  as  that  colossal  parvenu  vanity  which  exulted  in  the 
possession  of  a  graceful  walking  announcement  of  his  ability  to 
clothe  in  fine  fabrics  and  expensive  jewels. 

Perhaps  the  mildew  that  stained  the  ghastly  gaunt  angels  who 
kept  guard  over  the  dust  of  the  dead  wife,  extended  yet  further 
than  the  silent  territory  over  which  sexton  and  mattock 
reigned,  for  one  dreary  December  night,  .instead  of  nestling  for  a 
post-prandial  nap  among  the  velvet  cushions  of  his  luxurious 
parlor,  Daniel  Grey,  capitalist,  slept  his  last  sleep  in  a  high 
backed,  comfortless  chair  before  his  desk,  where  the  confidential 
clerk  found  him  next  morning,  with  his  rigid  icy  fingers  thrust 
tetween  the  leaves  of  his  check-book. 

According  to  the  old  Arab  proverb,  — 

"  The  black  camel  named  Death  kueeleth  once  at  each  door, 
And  a  mortal  must  mount  to  return  nevermore." 


22  UNTIL  DEATH  CIS  DO  PART. 


,  past  all  peradventure,  having  borne  away  one  member  of 
the  household,  the  "  Last  Carrier  "  from  force  of  habit  hastens 
to  perform  the  same  thankless  service  for  the  remainder  ;  —  thus 
sr«5  summer  sunshine  streamed  on  the  husband's  grave,  another 
yawned  at  its  side,  and  a  wreathed  and  fluted  shaft  shot  up  close 
to  his  mausoleum,  to  tell  sympathizing  friends  and  careie.su 
strangers  that  the  second  wife  of  Daniel  Grey  had  been  snatch  0*4 
away  in  the  morning  of  life. 

Her  infant  son  Ulpian  was  committed  to  the  tender  guar 
dianship  of  his  maternal  grandmother,  in  whose  hands  he 
remained  until  the  close  of  his  fourth  year,  when  her  death 
necessitated  his  return  to  the  home  of  his  only  relatives,  Enoch 
dud  Jane.  At  the  request  of  his  sister,  the  former  had  sold  the 
elegant  new  residence  in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  the  town,  and 
removed  to  the  old  homestead  and  farm,  hallowed  by  remi 
niscences  of  their  mother,  and  invested  with  the  magic  attrac 
tions  that  early  association  weaves  about  the  spots  frequented  in 
youth. 

Manifesting,  even  in  boyhood,  an  unconquerable  repugnance 
not  only  to  curriculum,  but  the  monotonous  routine  of  mer 
cantile  pursuits,  Enoch  sullenly  forswore  stock-jobbing  and 
finance,  and  declared  his  intention  of  indulging  hLs  rural  tastes 
and  becoming  a  farmer.  Fine  cattle  and  poultry  of  all  kinds, 
heavy  wheat-crops,  and  well-stored  corn-cribs  engrossed  his 
thoughts,  to  the  entire  exclusion  of  abstract  aesthetic  specula 
tion,  of  operatic  music,  and  Pre-Raphaelitisrn  ;  while  the  sight 
of  one  of  his  silky  shori>horned  Ayrshires  yielded  him  infinitely 
more  pleasure  than  the  possession  of  all  Rosa  Bonheur's  ideals 
could  possibly  have  done,  and  the  soft  billowy  stretch  of  his 
favorite  clover-meadow  was  worth  all  the  canvas  that  Claude  or 
Poussin  had  ever  colored.  While  Enoch  had  cordially  hated 
£-is  fair  blue-eyed  young  step-mother,  not  from  any  personal  or 
individual  grounds  of  grievance,  but  simply  and  solely  because 
«he  dared  to  occupy  the  household  niche,  sanctified  once  and 
forever  by  his  own  meek  gentle-toned  mother,  he  nevertheless 
tenderly  loved  her  baby-boy  ;  and  as  Ulpian  grew  to  manhood 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  23 

ho   became  the  idol,   at  whose  shrine  the  brother  and   sister 
offered  their  pure  and  most  intense  affection. 

Neither  had  married,  and  wuen  the  youngest  of  the  household 
bund  completed  his  studies,  and  decided  to  accept  a  naval 
appointment,  the  consternation  and  grief  which  the  axoiounce- 
ment  produced  at  the  homestead,  proved  how  essential  tbz 
presence  of  the  half-brother  had  become  to  the  happiness  of  th< 
s<5date  stolid  Enoch,  and  equable  unselfish  Jane.  Bat  ths 
desire  to  travel  subordinated  all  other  sentiments  in  Ulpiftu's 
nature,  and  lie  eagerly  embarked  for  a  cruise,  from  -which  ho 
•VTH.S  recalled  bv  tidings  of  the  death  of  his  brother. 

A  brief  sojourn  at  the  homestead  had  sufficed  to  arrange  the 
affairs  of  the  caref idly-managed  estate,  and  the  young  surgeon 
returned  to  his  post  aboard  ship,  in  distant  oriental  seas.  The 
increasing  infirmity  of  his  sister  had  finally  induced  the  resigna 
tion  of  his  cherished  commission,  and  brought  the  man  of 
thirty-five  back  to  his  home,  where  the  "old  familiar  faces" 
seemed  to  have  vanished  forever ;  and,  in  lieu  thereof,  legions  of 
cold-eyed  strangers  carelessly  confronted  him. 

Emancipated  from  all  restraint,  and  early  consigned  to  the 
guidance  of  his  boyish  caprices  and  immature  judgment,  Ulpian 
Grey's  character  had  unfolded  itself  under  circumstances 
peculiarly  favorable  for  the  fostering  of  selfishness  and  the 
development  of  idiosyncrasies.  As  a  plant,  unmolested  by  man 
and  beast,  germinates,  expands,  and  freely  and  completely 
manifests  all  its  inherent  tendencies,  whether  detrimental  or 
benuiicial  to  humanity,  so  Dr.  Grey's  matured  manhood  was 
no  distorted  or  discolored  tesult  of  repeated  educational 
experiments,  but  a  thoroughly  normal  eillorescence  of  an  un 
biassed  healthful  nature. 

Habits  of  unwavering  application  and  searching  study,  con 
tracted  in  collegiate  cloisters,  tightened  their  grisp  upor.  him. 
sa  lie  wandered  away  from  the  quiet  precincts  of  Alnwt  Mater  .^ 
and  into  the  crowded  noisy  campus  of  life ;  and  even  the 
gregarious  and  convivial  manners  prevalent  aboard  ship  failed 
to  divert  hia  attention  from  the  prosecution  of  scientific  re 
searches,  or  to  retarl  his  raptl  progress  in  classical  scholarship. 


24  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

For  the  treasu  res  of  knowledge  cnus  pauently  and  indefatigablj 
garnered  through  a  series  of  years,  travel  proved  ac  invaluable 
polyglot  commentator,  analyzing,  comparing,  annotating,  and 
Italicizing,  and  had  converted  his  mind  into  a  vast,  systematically 
arranged,  pictorial  encyclopaedia  of  miscellaneous  Icre,  embet 
lished  with  delicate  etchings,  noble  engravings,  and  gorgeo  ft 
illuiainauons,  —  a  thesaurus  where  savants  might  seek  succe*? 
fully  for  data,  and  whence  artists  could  derive  grand  types,  ard 
pure  tender  coloring. 

Reverent  and  loving  appreciation  of  the  intrinsically  "  truft, 
good,  and  beautiful "  was  part  of  the  homage  that  his  na-turo 
rendered  to  its  Creator,  and  instead  of  flowering  into  a  morbid 
and  maudlin  sentimentality  which  craves  low-brjwed,  long 
straight-nosed,  undraped  statuettes  in  every  nook  and  corner,  — 
or  dwarfs  the  soul  and  pins  it  to  the  surplice  of  some  theologic 
dogmata  claiming  infallibility  —  or  coffins  the  intellect  ic 
cramped,  shallow,  psychological  categories,  —  it  bore  fruit  in  a 
wide-eyed,  large-hearted,  liberal-minded  eclecticism,  which, 
waging  no  crusade  against  the  various  Saladins  of  modern  sys 
tems,  quietly  possessed  itself  of  the  really  valuable  elements  that 
constitute  the  basis  of  every  ethical,  aesthetic,  and  scientific 
creed,  which  has  for  any  length  of  time  levied  black-mail  on  the 
credulity  of  mankind. 

Breadth  of  intellectual  vision  promotes  moral  and  emotional 
expansion  —  for  true  catholicity  of  mind  manufactures  charity 
in  the  heart ;  and  toleration  is  the  real  mesmeric  current  which 
brings  the  extremes  of  humanity  en  rapport,  —  is  the  veritable 
obiquitous  Samaritan  always  provided  with  wine  and  oil  for  the 
bruised  and  helpless,  who  are  strewn  along  the  highway  of  life; 
and  those  who  penetrated  beyond  the  polished  surface  of  Dr. 
Grey's  character,  realized  that  no  tinge  of  cynicism,  no  affecta 
tion  of  contempt  for  his  country  and  countrymen  lurked  in  his 
heart,  while  erudition  and  foreign  sojourning  seemed  only  to 
have  warmed  and  intensified  his  sympathy  with  all  noble  aima 
—  his  compassion  for  all  grovelling  ones. 

That  his  compulsory  return  to  the  uneventful  routine  of  life 
at  the  homestead,  involved  a  sacrifice  which  he  would  gladlj 


UHTIL  DEATH  £7tf  DO  PART.  25 

have  avoided,  he  did  not  attempt  to  deny;  but  having  invested 
a  large  amount  of  earnest,  vigorous  faith  in  the  final  constrva- 
iism  of  that  much-abused  monster  which  the  seditions  army  of 
the  Disappointed  anathematize  as  "  Bad  Luck,"  he  went  to  work 
contentedly  in  this  new  sphere  of  action,  and  waited  patiently 
?.nd  trustfully  for  the  slow  grinding  of  the  great  mill  of  Com 
pensation,  into  whose  huge  hopper  Fate  had  unceremoniously 
poured  all  his  plans. 

ilis  advent  produced  a  very  decided  sensation  not  only  in  the 
quiet  neighborhood  in  which  the  farm  was  located,  but  also  in 
the  adjacent  town  where  the  memory  of  Daniel  Grey's  meteoric 
ascent  to  pecuniosity  still  lingered  in  the  minds  of  the  oldest 
citizens,  and  pleasantly  paved  the  way  for  a  cordial  reception  of 
the  fortunate  son  who  inherited  not  only  his  mother's  comeliness 
but  his  father's  hoarded  wealth. 

Living  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  in  a 
lenusphere  completely  antipodal  to  that  in  which  Utopia  was 
situated,  or  "  Bensalem  "  dreamed  of,  the  appearance  of  a  good- 
looking,  well-educated,  affluent  bachelor  could  not  fail  to  stir  aL 
gossipdom  to  its  dregs ;  and  society,  ever  tenderly  concerned 
about  the  individual  affairs  of  its  prominent  members,  was  all 
agog —  busily  arranging  for  the  ci-devant  United  States  Surgeon 
a  programme,  than  which  he  would  sooner  have  undertaken  the 
feats  of  Samson  or  the  Avatars  of  Vishnu. 

His  published  card,  announcing  the  fact  that  he  had  perma 
cently  located  in  the  city  and  was  a  patient  candidate  for  th» 
privilege  of  setting  fractured  limbs  and  administering  medicine, 
somewhat  dashed  the  expectations  of  many  who  conjectured 
that  the  Grey  estate  could  not  possibly  be  worth  the  amount  so 
long  reputed,  or  the  principal  heir  would  certainly  not  soil  his 
fingeis  with  pills  and  plasters,  instead  of  sauntering  and  dawdling 
with  librettos,  lorgnettes,  meerschaums,  and  curiously-carved 
?«nes  cut  in  the  Hebrides  or  the  jungles  of  Java. 

Over  the  door  of  th&>=  office,  where  the  Angel  of  Death  had 
smitten  his  father  thhvy-iivo  years  before,  a  new  sign   swung 
ID  the  breeze,  and  showed  the  citizens  the  name  of  "  Dr.  Ulpiais 
Gray      Office  hours  from  nino  to  ten,  and  from  two  to  three." 
3 


26  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

The  members  of  the  profession  called  formally  -uo  welcom* 
him  to  a  share  of  their  annial  profits,  and  collectively  gave  him 
a  dinner ;  the  "  best  families "  invited  him  to  tea  or  luncheon, 
croquet  or  "  German,"  and  thus,  having  accomplished  his  pro 
fessional  and  social  debut,  Ulpian  Grey,  M.D.,  hencefortl 
claimed  and  exercised  the  privilege  of  selecting  his  associate^ 
«nd  employing  his  time  as  inclination  prompted. 

In  the  comprehensive  course  of  study  to  which  he  had  he 
long  devoted  his  attention,  he  had  not  omitted  that  immemorial 
stereotyped  volume — Human  Nature  —  which,  despite  the 
attempted  revisions  of  sages,  politicians,  and  ecclesiastics, 
remains  as  immutable  as  the  everlasting  hills ;  printing  upon 
the  leaves  of  the  youngest  century  phases  of  guilt  and  guileless- 
ness  w  hich  find  their  prototypes  in  the  gray  dawn  of  time,  when 
the  "morning  stars  sang  together,"  —  yea,  busy  to-day  as  of 
yoie,  slaughtering  Abel,  stoning  Stephen,  fretting  Moses,  cruci 
fying  Christ.  Finding  much  that  was  admirable,  and  more  that 
seemed  ignoble,  he  gravely  and  reverently  sought  to  possess 
himself  of  the  subtle  arcana  of  this  marvellous  book,  rejecting 
as  equally  erroneous  and  unreliable  the  magnifying  zeal  of 
optimism  and  the  gloomy  jaundiced  lenses  of  sneering  pessim 
ism, —  thoroughly  satisfied  that  it  was  a  solemn  duty,  obligatory 
upon  all,  to  study  that  complex  paradoxical  human  nature,  for 
the  mastery  of  which  Lucifer  and  Jesus  had  ceaselessly  battled 
since  the  day  when  Adam  and  Eve  were  called  "  to  dress  and 
to  keep"  the  Garden  by  the  Euphrates, — that  heaven-born, 
heaven-cursed,  restless  human  nature,  which  nov,  as  then,  — 

"Grasps  at  the  Iriiitag-e  forbidden, 
The  golden  pomegranates  of  Eden, 
To  quiet  its  fever  and  pain." 

A  few  days'  residence  under  the  same  roof,  and  a  guard eo 
observation  of  Salome's  conduct,  sufiiced  to  acquaint  Dr.  Grey 
with  the  ungenerous  motives  that  induced  her  chagrin  at  his 
return;  and,  without  permitting  her  to  suspect  that  he  had  so 
accurately  read  her  character,  he  endeavored  as  unobtrusively 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  27 

AS  possible  to  bridge  by  kinduss.s  ami  courtesy  the  chasm  of 
jealous  distrust  which  divided  them. 

Indoient  and  self-indulgent,  she  neither  brooked  dictation, 
nor  gracefully  accepted  any  suggestions  at  variance  "with  the 
reigning  whim ;  for,  since  she  became  ar  'nmate  of  Miss  Jane's 
hospitable  home,  existence  had  been  a  mere  dreamy,  ainilcn* 
succession  of  golden  damis  and  scarlet-curtained  sunsets  —  '•> 
slow,  quiet  lapsing  of  weeks  into  months,  — an  almost  stagnant 
stream  curled  by  no  eddies,  freighted  with  few  aspirations 
bearing  no  drift. 

The  circumstances  and  associations  of  her  early  life  had  de 
stroyed  her  faith  in  abstract  nobility  of  character;  self- 
abnegation  she  neither  comprehended  nor  deemed  possible ;  and 
of  a  stern,  innate  moral  heroism  she  was  utterly  sceptical; 
consequently  a  delicately  graduated  scale  of  selfishness  was  the 
sole  balance  by  which  she  was  wont  to  weigh  men  and  women. 

Her  irregular  method  of  study  and  desultory  reading  had 
rather  enervated  than  strengthened  a  mind  naturally  clear  and 
vigorous,  and  left  its  acquisitions  in  a  confused  and  kaleidoscopic 
mass,  bordering  upon  intellectual  salmagundi. 

One  warm  afternoon,  on  his  return  from  town,  as  Dr.  Grey 
ascended  the  steps  lie  noticed  Salome  reclining  on  a  bamboo 
settee  at  the  western  end  of  the  gallery,  where  the  sunshine  was 
hot  and  glaring,  unobstructed  by  the  thin  leafy  screen  of  vines 
that  drooped  from  column  to  column  on  the  southern  and 
eastern  sides  of  the  building.  If  conscious  of  his  approach  she 
vouchsafed  not  the  slightest  intimation  of  it,  and  when  he  stood 
beside  her  she  remained  so  immovable  that  he  might  have 
imagined  her  asJeep  but  for  the  lambent  light  which  rayed  out 
from  eyes  that  seemed  intently  numbering  the  soft  fluttering 
^oung  leaves  OL  a  distant  chimp  of  elm  trees,  which  made  s 
lace-like  tracery  of  golden  glimmer  and  quivering  shadow  on  the 
purple-headed  clover  at  their  feet. 

Her  fair  but  long  slender  fingers  carelessly  held  a  book  that 
threatened  to  slip  from  their  light  relaxing  grasp,  and  compress 
ing  his  lips  in  order  to  smother  a  smile  under  his  heavy  mou& 


28  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

tache,  Dr.  Grey  stooped  and  put  his  hand  on  her  plump 
wrist,  where  the  bine  veins  were  running  riot. 

"  So  young,  — yet  cataleptic  !  Unfortunate,  indeed,"  ho  nun 
mured. 

She  sheok  off  his  touch,  and  instantly  sat  erect. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  know  what  you  mean." 

'•'-  I  have  an  admirable,  nay,  I  venture  to  add,  an  aimc-Ht 
li, fallible  prescription  for  catalepsy,  which  has  cured  two  chrome 
HIT!  apparently  hopeless  cases,  and  it  will  afford  mo  great  plea 
sure  to  try  the  third  experiment  upon  you,  since  you  seem 
pitiably  in  want  of  a  remedy." 

"  Thank  you.  Were  I  as  free  from  all  other  ills  that  '  flesh 
is  heir  to,'  as  I  certainly  am  of  the  taint  of  catalepsy,  I  might 
indeed  congratulate  myself  upon  an  immunity  which  would 
obviate  the  dire  necessity  of  ever  meeting  a  physician." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  sufficiently  understand  the  symptoms, 
to  recognize  them  unerringly  ?  " 

rhe  rose  tint  in  her  cheeks  deepened  to  scarlet,  as  she  haughtily 
drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  answered,  — 

"  Dr.  Grey  himself  is  not  more  sagacious  and  adroit  in  de 
tecting  them;  especially  when  open  eyes  discover  unwelcome 
and  disagreeable  objects,  which,  wishing  to  avoid,  they  are  still 
compelled  to  see.  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  that  I  comprehend 
you." 

"  My  meaning  was  not  so  occult  as  to  justify  a  doubt  upon 
that  subject;  and  moreover,  Salome,  lack  of  astuteness  is  far 
from  being  your  greatest  defect.  My  motive  should  eloquently 
plead  pardon  for  my  candor,  if  I  venture  to  tell  you  that  your 
frequent  affectation  of  unconsciousness  of  the  presence  of  others, 
'is  a  custom  more  honored  in  the  breach  than  the  observance,' 
ana  may  prove  prolific  of  annoyance  in  coming  years ;  for  curtesy 
constitutes  the  key-stone  in  the  beautiful  arch  of  social  an.enities 
which  vaults  the  temple  of  Christian  virtues.  Lest  vou  should 
take  umbrage  at  my  frankness,  which  ought  to  assure  you  of  my 
interest  in  your  happiness  and  improvement,  permit  me  to 
remind  you  of  the  oriental  definition  of  a  faithful  friend,  tha* 
has  more  pith  than  verbal  polish,  — 


UNTIL  DiVATH  US  DO  PART.  29 

'The  true  friend  is  not  he  who  holds  up  Flattery's  mirror,  - 

In  which  the  face  to  thy  conceit,  most  pleasing  hovers ; 
But  he  who  kindly  shows  tLu:e  all  thy  vices,  sirrah  ! 
And  helps  thee  merd  them  ere  aa  enemy  discovers.' ' 

Rising,  Salome  swept  him  a  profound  courtesy,  and,  while  he; 
fingers  boat  a  tattoo  on  the  book  she  held,  she  watched  hiir 
with  a  peculiar  sparkle  in  her  eyes,  which  he  had  already  learns*: 
to  understand  was  a  beacon  flame  kindled  by  intense  displeasure. 
Dr.  Grey  seated  himself,  and,  taking  oft"  his  hat,  said  gently  and 
winning!  y,  as  he  pushed  aside  the  hair  that  clustered  in  brown 
rings  over  his  forehead, — 

"  Here  is  ample  room  lor  hoili  of  u.s.  Sit  down,  and  be  reason 
able;  and  1H  me  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  amiable  elements  which1 
I  feel  assured  must  exist  somewhere  in  your  nature,  notwith 
standing  your  persistent  endeavor  to  conceal  them.  Your 
Janus  character  has  hitherto  breathed  only  Avar  —  war;  but, 
my  young  friend,  I  earnestly  invoke  its  peaceful  phase." 

The  kindness  of  tone  arid  evident  sincerity  of  manner  might 
have  disarmed  a  prejudice  better  founded  than  hers;  but  wrath 
consumed  all  scruples,  and,  recollecting  his  forbearance  with 
various  former  acts  of  rudeness,  she  presumed  to  attempt  fur 
ther  aggressions. 

Waving  her  hand  in  tacit  rejection  of  the  prone.™**  sli»v«  of 
the  settee,  she  answered  with  more  emphasis  than  perspicuity 
demanded,  — 

"Does  your  reading  of  the  book  of  Job  encourage  you  to 
Relieve  that  when  those  self-appointed  cc'vnscllors  —  Ejiphaz 
the  Temaiiit'.',  Bildad  the  Shuhite,  and  Zophar  the  Naamathite- 
i'eturned  to  their  respective  homes,  they  had  cause  to  congratu 
late  themselves  upon  their  cordial  welcome  to  Job's  bank  of 
ashes,  or  felt  bountifully  repaid  for  their  voluntary  mission  of 
ad  vice  V" 

"Unfortunately,  no.  My  study  of  the  record  of  the  uia.r> 
of  Uz  renders  painfully  patent  that  humiliating  fact — okl  :«, 
humanity  —  that  sanctitv  of  motive  is  no  coat-of-mail  to  thh 
.u'/!;less  few  who  bravely  bear  to  the  hearts  of  those  with  whom 
iL.  y  associate  the  unwelcome  burden  of  unflattering  truths 


30  VNT1L    DEA^H  US  DO  PART. 

Phraseology  —  definitions  —  vary  with  advancing  centuries 
hut  not  so  the  human  impulses  they  express  or  explain ;  anj 
friendship  in  the  days  of  Job  was  the  identical  '  Mutual  Admira 
tion  Society,'  which  at  present  converts  its  consistent  servile 
members  into  Damon  and  Pythias,  but  punishes  any  violation 
of  its  canons  with  hatred  dire  and  inextinguishable.  "Wertj  I 
blessed  with  the  genius  of  Praxiteles  or  of  Angelo,  I  would 
chisel  and  bequeath  to  the  world  a  noble  statue,  —  typical  of 
that  i  are,  fearless  friendship,  which,  walking  through  the  la  retto 
of  diseased  and  morbid  natures,  bears  not  honied  draughts  alone, 
but  scalpel,  caustic,  and  bitter  tonics." 

The  calm  swsetness  of  voice  and  mien  lent  to  his  words  an 
influence  which  no  amount  of  gall  or  satire  could  have  imparted  ; 
and,  in  the  brief  silence  that  ensued,  Salome's  heart  was  sud 
denly  smitten  with  a  humiliating  consciousness  of  her  childish 
flippancy,  —  her  utter  inferiority  to  this  man,  who  seemed  to 
walk  serenely  in  a  starry  plane  far  beyond  the  mire  where  she 
grovelled. 

Ridicule  braced  and  exaggerated  her  weaknesses,  and  the 
strokes  of  sarcasm  she  could  adroitly  parry;  but  for  persistent 
magnanimity  she  was  no  match,  and  recoiled  before  it  like  the 
traditional  Fiend  at  sight  of  the  Santo  Sudario.  Watching  her 
companion's  quiet  countenance,  she  saw  a  shadow  drift  over  it, 
betokening  neither  auger  nor  scorn,  but  serious  regret ;  and 
involuntarily  she  drooped  her  head  to  avoid  the  eyes  that  now 
turned  full  upon  her. 

"  Since  I  became  a  man,  and  to  some  extent  capable  of  dis 
criminating  with  reference  to  the  characters  of  persons  with 
whom  I  found  myself  in  contact,  I  have  made  and  invariably 
observed  one  rule  of  conduct,  —  namely,  never  to  associate  with 
those  whom  I  can  not  respect.  Ignorance,  want  of  refinement, 
'notability  of  temper,  and  even  lack  of  generous  impulses,  I  cat 
forgive,  when  redeemed  by  candor  and  stern  honesty  of  pur 
pose  ;  but  arrogance,  dissimulation,  and  all-absorbing  selfish- 
cess  I  will  not  tolerate.  In  you  I  hoped  and  expected  better 
qualities  than  you  permit  mo  to  find,  and  I  trust  you  will  acquii 
uie  of  ir.teut.ional  rudeness  if  I  acknowledge  that  you  have  paiiv 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  31 

fully  disappointed  rne.  It  was,  and  still  is,  my  earnest  wish  to 
befriend  and  to  aid  you,  —  to  contribute  to  your  happiness,  and 
cordially  sympathize  in  any  annoyances  that  may  surround  yon, 
but  thus  far  you  have  rendered  it  impossible  for  me  to  esteem 
you,  and  while  1  do  not  presume  that  my  good  opinion  is  of  anj 
importance  to  you,  our  present  relations  compel  mo  to  request 
tli nfc  our  intercourse  may  in  future  be  characterized  by  mora 
urbanity  than  has  yet  graced  it.  .My  sister  has  been  much 
pained  by  the  feelings  \sith  which  you  evidently  regard  mo,  and 
since  you  and  1  are  merely  guests  under  her  roof,  a  due  'left* 
reuee  to  her  \vi:,hrs  should  certainly  repress  the  exhibition  of 
antipathies  towards  those,  whom  she  loves.  It  is  her  earnest 
desire  (as  expressed  in  a  conversation  which  I  had  with  her 
yesterday)  that  1  should  treat  you  as  a  young  sister ;  and,  for 
her  sake,  I  oiler  you  once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  my 
hearty  assistance  in  any  department  in  which  I  am  able  to  ren 
der  it." 

"  The  folds  of  your  ilag  of  truce  do  not  conceal  the  drawn 
sword  beneath  it;  and  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  it  is  very  evident 
that  '  demand '  would  far  better  have  expressed  your  purpose 
than  the  word  *  request.'  " 

"At  least  yoxi  should  not  be  surprised  if  I  doubt  whether 
you  regard  any  truce  as  inviolable,  and  am  inclined  to  suspect 
you  of  latent  treachery." 

"  Your  accusation  of  dissimulation  is  xuijust,  for  I  have  openly, 
fearlessly  manifested  my  prejudice  —  my  aversion." 

"That  you  dislike  me  is  my  misfortune,  but  that  you  allow 
your  detestation  to  generate  discord  in  our  small  circle  id  fin 
error  which  I  trust  you  will  endeavor  to  correct.  That  I  have 
•inany  faults  1  shall  not  attempt  to  deny ;  but  mutual  forbear 
ance  will  prove  a  mutual  blessing.  For  Jane's  sake,  shall  there 
iiofc  be  peace  between  us  ?  " 

Standing  before  her,  he  looked  gravely  down  into  her  face, 
v.lu:re  flush  and  sparkle  had  died  out,  and  saw  -  what  sha 
'.ras  too  proud  to  confess  —  that  he  had  partially  conqnered  her 
waywardness,  thh,t  she  was  reluctantly  yielding  to  his  influence J 
f»«t  he  understood  her  nature,  too  thoroughly  to  pause  con  touted 


32  tiJXTIL  DEATH  US  DO    PART. 

with  this  slight  advantage  in  a  contest  which  he  foresaw  must 
determine  the  direction  of  her  aims  through  life. 

"  Salome,  I  am  waiting  for  your  decision." 

Her  lips  stirred  twice,  but  the  words  they  framed  were  eitker 
too  haughty  or  too  humble,  for  she  refused  them  utterance ;  and, 
while  she  deliberated,  two  tears  settled  the  question  by  rolling 
swiftly  over  her  cheeks,  and  falling  upon  the  cherry  ribbon  at 
ber  throat. 

Accepting  it  as  a  tacit  signature  to  his  terms  of  capitulation, 
and  satisfied  with  the  result,  Dr.  Grey  forbore  to  urge  verbal 
assurances.  Taking  the  book  from  her  hand,  he  said,  plea 
santly,  — 

"  Are  you  fond  of  French  ?  I  frequently  find  yon  poring  over 
your  grammar." 

"  I  h:ive  never  had  a  teacher,  nor  have  J  conquered  the  con 
jugations;  consequently,  I  know  comparatively  little  about  the 
Umguage."  « 

"  A  re  you  studying  it  with  the  intention  of  familiarizing 
yourself  with  French  literature,  or  merely  to  enable  you  to 
translate  the  few  phrases  that  modern  writers  sprinkle  through 
novels  and  essays?" 

"  For  neither  purpose,  but  simply  because  it  is  the  court 
language  of  the  old  world ;  and,  if  I  should  succeed  in  my  hops 
of  visiting  Europe,  I  might,  regret  my  ignorance  of  the  univer 
sally  recei  7ed  medium  of  communication." 

"Ha\e  you,  then,  no  desire  to  master  those  noble  bursts  of 
eloquence  by  which  Racine,  Bossuet,  Feneloii,  and  Cousin  have 
Charmed  the  intellects  of  all  nations?  " 

"  None,  whatever.  I  might  as  well  tell  you  at  once,  what  you 
will  inevitably  discover  ere  long  if  you  condescend  to  inspect 
my  meagre  attainments,  that  for  abstract  study  I  have  no  more 
inclination  than  to  fondle  some  mummy  in  the  crypts  of  Gyrene^ 
or  play  'blind  man's  buff'  with  the  corpses  in  the  Morsnie. 
My  limited  investments  of  time  and  thought  in  intellect  ,ial  stock 
have  been  made  solely  with  reference  to  speedy  divi. lends  of 
most  practical  and  immediate  benefit;  and  knowledge  per  f> — • 
knowledge  which  will  not  pay  me  handsome  interest  —  haj?  iwt 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  33 

caore  \>alue  in  ray  eyes  than  a  handful  of  tlie  dust  of  those  Atures 
found  in  the  cavern  of  Ataruipe.  Doubtless  you  think  me 
pitiably  benighted,  and  possibly  I  might  find  more  favor  in  your 
eight  if  1  affected  a  prodigious  amount  of  literary  enthusiasm, 
and  boundless  admiration  for  scholarship  and  erudition ;  but 
that  would  prove  too  troublesome  an  imposture, — for  I  are 
constitutionally,  habitually,  and  premeditatedly  lazy." 

She  haw  a  smile  lurking  \mder  his  heavy  lashes,  and  half 
(ambushed  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth ;  and,  vaguely  conscious 
that  she  was  rendering  herself  ridiculous,  she  bit  her  lip  with 
ill-disruised  vexation. 

o 

"  Salome,  I  am  afraid  that  under  the  garb  of  a  jest  yov. 
are  making  me  acquainted  with  a  very  mournful  truth.  You 
have  probably  never  heard  of  Lessing,  —  Gotthold  Ephraiin 
Lessing." 

"Oh,  I  am  not  quite  as  ignorant  as  a  Pitcairn's  Islander; 
and  I  think  1  have  somewhere  seen  that  such  a  person  £«*  Les 
sing  lived  at  Wolfenbiittel.  He  once  said,  '  The  chase  is 
always  worth  more  than  the  quarry.'  And  again,  '  Did  the 
Almighty,  holding  in  his  right  hand  Truth,  and  in  his  left 
Search  after  Truth,  deign  to  proffer  me  the  one  1  might  prefer, 
—  in  all  humility,  but  without  hesitation,  1  should  request 
Search  after  Truth. '  When  you  have  nothing  more  important 
to  occupy  your  attention,  give  ten  minutes'  reflection  to  his 
admonition,  and  perhaps  it  may  declare  a  dividend  years  hence. 
Last  week  I  found  your  algebra  on  the  rug  before  the  library 
grate,  and  noticed  several  sums  worked  out  in  pencil  on  the 
margin.  Are  you  fond  of  matKe-caiatics  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of." 

"  Wht.t  progress  have  yo~".  made?  " 

"  lily  knowledge  of  aruhiuetic  is  barely  sufficient  t<u  lake  ma 
through  a  brief  shopping  expedition." 

"  liave  you  no  ambition  to  increase  it?  " 

u  Dr.  Grey,  I  have  no  ambition.  That  '  last  infirmity  of  nnble 
minds'  haw  never  attacked  me;  and,  folding  my  hands,  I  <non). 
Ceaselessly  to  my  soul,  'Take  thine  ease,  eat,  drink,  and  or 
meny  '  The  rapture  of  the  mathematician,  who  IX>WH  before  th* 


54  UNTIL  DEATH  ifB  DO   PART. 

shrine  of  his  favorite  science,  is  tc  my  dull  intellect  ae  rncera 
prehensible  as  the  jargon  of  metaphysics  or  the  mysteries 
wrapped  up  in  Pali  cerements.  Equations,  conic  sections,  diffe 
rential  calculus,  constitute  a  skull  and  cross-bones  to  which  I 
jjlow  as  wide  a  berth  as  possible." 

Tho  weary,  dissatisfied  expression  of  her  large,  luminous  eyes, 
belied  the  sneer  in  her  voice  and  the  cur)  of  her  thin  lip,  anJ 
it  cost  her  an  effort  to  answer  his  next  question. 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  rule  you  have  adopted  for  the  distri 
bution  of  your  time,  and  the  government  of  your  life?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  you  are  heartily  welcome  to  it:  'Yet  a  little 
slumber,  a  little  folding  of  the  hands  to  sleep.'  Laissez  nou» 
faire.  Moreover,  Dr.  Grey,  if  you  will  courteously  lend  me 
/our  ears,  I  will  favor  you  with  a  still  more  felicitous  exposition 
of  my  invaluable  organon." 

Stooping  suddenly,  she  raised  from  the  floor  a  small  volume 
which  had  been  concealed  by  her  dress,  and,  as  it  opened  at  a 
page  stained  with  the  juice  of  a  purple  convolvulus,  she  smiled 
defiantly,  and  read  with  almost  scornful  emphasis,  — 

"'Ah,  why 

Should  life  all  labor  be  ? 
Let  us  alone.     Time  driveth  onward  fast, 

And  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb. 
Let  us  alone.     What  is  it  that  will  last  ? 

All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become 
Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past. 

Let  us  alone.     What  pleasure  can  we  have 
To  war  with  evil  ?     la  there  any  peace 

In  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave  ? 

All  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave 
In  silence ;  ripen,  fall,  and  cease  : 
Give  us  long  rest  or  death ;  dark  death  or  dreamful  e*M. 

rLere,  Dr  Grey,  you  have  my  creed  and  method,  —  Laissez  nou* 
faire." 

With  a  degree  of  gravity  that,  trenched  on  sternness,  he  bowed, 
and  answered, — 

"  So  be  it.     I  might  insist  that  the  closing  lines  of  '  Ulysse* 
nobly  refute  all  the  numbing  heresy  of  the  *  Lotos  Eaters  ' — 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  3d 

,         .         .         .         '  But  something  ere  the  °.Hd« 

Some  work  of  nohlo  note  may  yet  be  done. 

That  which  we  arc.  we  are ; 

Oue  equal  templer  of  heroic  hearts. 

Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 

To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield.' 

But  1  would  not  rouse  you  from  a  lethargy,  which,  knowing  it  to 
be  fatal  to  all  hopes  of  usefulness,  you  still  deliberately  prefer. 
Take  care,  however,  lest  you  bury  the  one  original  talent  30 
d<jep  that  you  fail  to  unearth  it  when  the  Master  demands  it  in 
r.he  final  day  of  restitution.  I  have  questioned  you  concerning 
your  studies,  because  I  desired  and  intended  to  offer  my  services 
is  tutor,  while  you  prosecuted  mathematics  and  the  languages; 
but  1  forbear  to  suggest  a  course  so  evidently  distasteful  to  you. 
Unless  I  completely  misjudge  your  character,  I  fear  the  day  ia 
not  distant,  when,  haunted  by  ghosts  of  strangled  opportunities, 
you  will  realize  the  solemn  and  painful  truth,  that, — 

'  There  is  nothing  a  man  knows,  hi  grief  or  in  Kin, 
Half  so  bitter  as  to  think,  What  I  might  hme 


CHAPTER  III. 

jALOME,   you   look    so   weary    that    I    must    insist   upon 
relieving  you.      Give  me   the   book,  and  run  out  for  a 
breath  of  fresh  air— a  glimpse  of  blue  sky." 
Dr.  Grey  laid  his  hand  on  the  volume,  but  the  girl  shook  her 
head  and  pushed  aside  liis  lingers. 

"  1  arn  not  at  all  tired,  and  even  if  I  were  it  would  make 
CD  difference.  Miss  Jane  desires  me  to  read  this  sermon  aim:  4, 
and  I  shall  finish  it." 

The  invalid,  who  had  been  confined  to  her  bed  for  many  flays 
by  a  severe  attack  of  rheumatism,  partially  raised  herself  ou  cna 
elb&w,  and  said, — 


36  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  My  dear,  give  him  the  book,  while  you  take  a  little  exercise, 
You  have  been  pent  up  hero  long  enongh,  and,  moreover,  I  want 
to  talk  to  Ulpian  about  some  business  matters.  Don't  look  BO 
Bulleu,  ray  child;  it  makes  no  difference  who  reads  the  sermon 
io  me.  Kiss  mo,  and  run  out  on  the  lawn." 

The  orphan  relinquished  chair  and  book,  but  there  was  n~ 
relaxation  of  ber  bent  brows,  and  neither  warmth  nor  lingering 
press*  re  in  the  firm,  hardly  drawn  lips,  which  lightly  touched 
the  old  lady's  sallow,  wrinkled  cheek.  "When  she  had  left  the 
room,  closing  the  door  after  her  with  more  force  than  was  requi 
site  to  bolt  it  securely,  Miss  Jane  sighed  heavily,  and  turned  tc 
her  brother. 

"  Poor  thing !  She  is  so  jealous  of  you ;  and  it  distresses  me 
to  see  that  no  friendship  grows  up  between  you,  as  1  hoped  and 
believed  would  be  the  case.  If  you  would  only  notice  her  a 
little  more  I  think  you  might  win  her-  over." 

"Leave  it  to  time,  Janet.  I  'have  piped  unto  her  and  she 
would  not  dance ;  I  have  mourned  unto  her,  and  she  has  not 
lamented,'  —  and  concessions  only  feed  her  waywardness.  If 
there  be  a  residuum  of  good  sense  and  proper  feeling  in  her 
nature,  they  will  assert  themselves  after  a  while;  if  not,  al' 
extraneous  influences  are  futile.  I  will  resume  the  reading,  if 
agreeable  to  you." 

Moody  and  rebellious,  Salome  stood  for  some  moments  on  the 
threshold  of  the  front  door,  staring  vacantly  out  over  the  lawn ; 
then,  snatching  her  hat  from  a  hook  in  the  hall,  she  swiftly 
crossed  ihe  grounds,  climbed  over  a  low  lattice  fence  at  the  foot 
of  the  declivity,  and  followed  a  worn  but  neglected  path  leading 
into  the  adjoining  forest. 

The  sanctity  of  the  Sabbath  afternoon  rested  like  a  benisoa 
over  the  silent  glades,  where  sunshine  made  golden  roads  along 
the  smooth  brown  pine  straw,  and  glinted  on  the  purple  flfiga 
that  fluttered  in  the  mild  west  wind.  Even  the  melancholy 
plaint  of  sad-eyed  dun  doves  was  hushed,  us  they  slowly  swung 
in  the  swaying  pine-tops;  and  two  young  lambs,  neglected  by 
the  wandering  flock,  lay  sleeping  quietly,  with  their  snowy 
Ueads  pillowed  on  clustering  violets,-  far  from  the  fold,  forgottea 


UNTIL   DEATH  Ua  DO  PART.  37 

by  ttieir  mothers,  at  the  mercy  of  strolling  dogs,  watched  Pii'y  y\ 
the  Great  Shepherd. 

Salome's  rapid  pace  soon  placed  a  mile  between  her  and  tb1* 
lence  that  bounded  the  lawn;  and.  pushing  through  the  dense 
undergrowth  which  betokened  the  proximity  of  a  stream,  Blu* 
stood  eie  long  on  the  margin  of  a  wide  pond  which  supplied  ths 
''-•road,  shining  sheet  of  beryl  water  that  poured  over  the  rocky 
.lam,  c'osc  to  the  large  irregular  building  called  "Grey 'a  Mill." 

PLea  of  lumber  were  bleaching  in  the  sunshine,  but  the 
u>aohinery  was  at  rest,  the  workmen  were  all  absent,  and  not  a 
sound  broke  the  stillness,  save  the  steady,  monotonous  chant  of 
the  water  leaping  down  into  the  race,  where  a  thousand  foonv 
flakes  danced  along  towards  the  huge  wheels,  and  died  on  the 
soft  green  mosses  and  lush-creepers  that  stole  down  to  bathe  in 
the  sparkling  wavelets.  The  knotted  roots  of  an  old  beech  tree 
furnished  a  resting-place,  and  Salome  sat  down  and  leaned  Lev 
head  against  the  scarred  trunk,  where  lightning  had  once  girdled 
and  partially  destroyed  it,  —  leaving  one-half  the  branches  leaiy, 
the  remainder  scorched  and  barren. 

Overhanging  willows  darkened  the  edges  of  the  pond;  and,  in 
the  centre,  one  tall,  venerable  cypress,  lonely  as  some  palm  in  the 
desert,  rose  like  a  gray  shaft  tufted  with  a  line  fringe  of  fresh 
green;  and  occasional  clusters  of  broad,  shining  leaves,  spread 
themselves  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  cradling  large,  snowy 
lilies,  whose  gold-powdered  stamens  trembled  ceaselessly.  Now 
and  then  a  trout  leaped  tip,  as  if  for  a  breath  of  May  air,  and 
fell  back  into  the  circle  that  widened  until  it  touched  eithei 
bank;  and  not  far  from  a  cow  who  st'od  knee-deep  in  water} 
browsing  on  a  wild  rose  that  clambered  over  the  willows  to  peep 
at  its  pink  image  in  the  pond,  a  proud  pair  of  gray  gee;be 
convoyed  a  brood  of  yellow  younglings  that  dived  and  breasted 
iho  ripples  with  evident  glee. 

With  hei  arms  clasped  around  bur  knees,  Salome  sat  watching 
the  blue  tendrils  of  smoke  tlmt  rose  from  a  chimp  of  elms 
beyond  the  mill  and  curled  lazily  upward  until  they  lost  thern- 
ftwlves  in  air;  and,  though  the  arching  elm  boughs  hid  nao&iy 
roof  and  clmnnty,  she  nevertheless  felt  that  .she  was  looking  v, 


S8  UNTIL  DEATH  UP  DO  PART. 

the  old  house  where  she  was  born,  and  where  ten  dreary  yearl 
nf  sorrow  and  humiliation  had  embittered  and  perverted  he* 
nature. 

Those  elms  had  seen  her  mother  die,  had  heard  her  father's 
Ininken  revelry,  and  bent  their  aged  heads  to  listen  on  that  wild 
vintry  night,  when  in  blood-curdling  curses  his  soul  rent  itself 
from  the  degraded  tenement  of  clay.  Apparently  peace  brooded 
over  earth,  sky,  and  water ;  but  to  that  lonely  figure  xmder  tho 
ri\t;n  beech,  every  object  within  the  range  of  vision  babbled 
horrible  tales  of  the  early  years,  and  memory  pointed  to  a  corner 
of  the  lumber-shed  adjoining  the  mill  where  she  had  often 
secreted  herself  to  avoid  her  father's  brutality,  —  always  keeping 
her  head  in  the  moonshine,  beca\ise  she  dreaded  the  darkness 
Inside,  which  childish  fancy  filled  with  ghostly  groups.  She 
hated  the  place  as  she  hated  the  past,  and  this  was  the  'tecond 
time  she  had  visited  it  since  the  day  that  consigned  her  to  the 
poor-house ;  for  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  look  at  the  pond 
without  recollecting  one  dark  passage  in  her  life,  knom*  only  tc 
trod  and  herself.  To-day  she  recalled,  wi*.h  startling  vividnesr 
a  dusky,  star-lit  June  evening,  when,  maddened  by  an  unmerr'.eJ 
and  unusiially  severe  punishment  inflicted  by  her  father,  she  had 
resolved  to  drown  herself,  and  find  peace  in  the  mud  at  the 
bottom  of  the  mill-  pond.  Placing  her  infant  sister  on  the  grass, 
she  Had  kissed  her  good-by,  and  selecting  the  deepest  portion  of 
the  water,  had  climbed  out  on  a  willow  branch  ar-d  prepared 
for  the  final  plunge.  Putting  her  fingers  ?r  her  ears  that  she 
might  not  hear  the  bubbling  of  the  murderous  water,  sho  shuf 
her  eyes  and  sprang  into  the  pond ;  but  her  long  hair  caugh  t 
the  willow  twigs,  and,  half  strangled  and  quite  willing  to  lire,, 
ch.?  scrambled  up  into  the  low  limbs  that  seemed  so  anxious  tc 
rescue  her  from  a  watery  grave;  and,  dripping  and  trembling, 
cr^r>t  bacL  to  the  house,  comforting  herself  with  the  grim  assw 
?anee  that  whatever  else  might  befall,  she  certainly  was  not 
foreordained  to  be  either  beaten  to  death  or  drowned.  Tbf 
impulse  which  had  brought  her  on  this  occasion  to  a  scene  so 
fraught  with  harrowing  memories,  was  explicable  only  by  the 
supposition  that  its  painful  surroundings  were  in  consonance 


UNTIL  DEATK  US  DO  PA11T.  33 

»vitL  tlie  bitter  and  despoadent  niood  in  which  she  found  her 
self;  and,  in  the  gloom  that  this  retrospection  shed  over  her 
countenance,  her  features  seemed  to  grow  wan  and  angular 
For  several  days  she  had  been  sorely  disquieted  by  the  realization 
of  Miss  Jane's  rapidly  failing  strength ;  and  the  probability  of  her 
death,  which  a  year  ago  would  have  been  entirely  endurable 
sa  an  avenue  t j  wealth,  now  appeared  the  direst  catastrophe  that 
had  yet  threatened  her  ill-starred  life. 

It  was  distressing  to  think  of  the  kind  old  face  growing  stiff 
in  a.  shroud,  but  infinitely  more  appalling  to  contemplate  the 
possibility  of  being  turned  out  of  a  comfortable  home  and  driven 
to  labor  for  a  maintenance.  Salome  had  a  vague  impression  that 
either  Providence  or  the  world  owed  her  a  luxurious  future,  as 
partial  compensation  for  her  juvenile  miseries;  but  since  both 
seemed  disposed  to  repudiate  the  debt,  she  was  reluctantly  com 
pelled  to  ponder  her  prospective  bankruptcy  in  worldly  goods, 
aad,  like  the  unjust  steward,  while  unwilling  to  work  she  was 
6  .ill  ashamed  to  beg. 

Although  she  strenuously  resisted  the  strong,  steady  influence 
BO  quietly  exerted  by  Dr.  Grey,  the  best  elements  of  her  nature, 
long  dormant.,  began  to  stir  feebly,  and  she  was  conscious  of 
nobler  aspirations  than  those  which  had  hitherto  swayed  her ; 
and  of  a  dimly-defined  self-dissatisfaction  that  was  novel  and 
fcnnoying.  Unwilling  to  admit  that  she  valued  his  good  opinion, 
eke  nevertheless  felt  chagrined  at  her  failure  to  possess  it,  and 
gradually  she  realized  her  utter  inferiority  to  this  man,  whose 
consistent  Christian  character  commanded  an  entire  respect 
which  she  had  never  before  entertained  for  any  human  being. 
.Immersed  in  vexing  thoughts  concerning  her  future,  she  me 
shamcally  stretched  out  her  hand  to  pluck  a  bunch  of  phlox 
and  of  lemon-hued  primroses  that  were  nodding  in  the  sunshini 
rfose  to  hei  feet ;  but,  as  she  touched  the  stems,  a  large  coppei- 
eolored  snake  slowly  uncoiled  from  the  tuft  of  grass  where  thev 
nestled,  and,  gliding  into  the  water,  disappeared  m  the  midF\t  *f 
the  lilies. 

"  I  wonder  if  throughout  life  all  the  flowers  I  endeavor  ic 
prove  only  Moccasin-beds  1     Why   should   they,  — 


40  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

unless  God  abdicates  and  Satan  reigns  ?  I  have  found,  to  my 
cost,  that  existence  is  not  made  entirely  of  rainless  June  days,1 
but  I  doubt  whether  darkness  and  storms  shut  out  the  warm 
glow  and  perpetually  curtain  the  stars.  Obviously  I  am  no 
saint ;  still,  I  am  disposed  to  believe  I  am  not  altogethei  wicked 
I  have  committed  no  capital  sins,  nor  grievously  transgressed 
the  decalogue,  —  and  why  should  I  despair  of  my  share  of  ihtt 
good  things  of  life?  1  am  neither  Cain  nor  Jezebel,  and 
therefore  Fates  and  Furies  have  no  warrant  to  dog  my  foot 
steps.  Moreover,  how  do  I  know  that  Destiny  is  indeed  the 
hideous,  vindictive  crone  that  luckless  wretches  have  painted 
her,  instead  of  an  amiable,  good  soul,  who  is  quite  as  willing  to 
scatter  blessings  as  curses?  Because  some  dyspeptic  Greek 
dreamed  of  three  pitiless  old  weavers,  blind  to  human  tears,  deaf 
to  human  petitions,  why  should  we  wise  and  enlightened  people 
of  the  nineteenth  century  scare  ourselves  with  the  skeleton  of 
Paganism?  I  have  as  inalienable  a  right  to  brocades,  crown- 
jewels,  and  a  string  of  titles,  as  any  reigning  queen,  provided  1 
can  only  get  my  hands  upon  them ;  and,  since  life  seems  to  be  a 
sort  of  snatch-and-hold  game,  quick  keen  eyes  and  nimble  fingers 
decide  the  question.  I  have  never  trodden  on  the  world's  tender 
toes,  nor  smitten  its  pet  follies,  nor  set  myself  aloft  to  gaze 
pityingly  on  its  degradation ;  therefore,  the  world  honors  me 
vith  no  special  grudge.  But  one  thing  is  mournfully  certain,  — 
my  path  is  not  strewn  with  loaves  and  fishes  ready  baked  and 
broiled,  and  I  must  even  go  gleaning  and  fashing  for  myself. 
Almost  everybody  has  some  gift  or  some  mission ;  but  I  really 
do  not  see  in  what  direction  I  can  set  to  work.  Work  !  How  I 
hate  the  bare  thought !  I  have  not  sufficient  education  to  teach, 
nor  genius  to  write,  nor  a  talent  for  drawing,  and  barely  music 
enough  in  my  soul  to  enable  me  to  carry  the  church  tunea 
respectably.  Come,  Salome  Owen !  Shake  off  your  sloth,  and 
face  the  abominable  fact  that  you  must  earn  your  own  bread, 
ft  is  a  great  shame,  and  I  ought  not  to  be,  obliged  to  work,  fur  J 
*m  not  responsible  for  my  existence,  and  those  who  brought  mo 
into  the  world  owed  it  to  me  to  provide  for  my  wants.  I  can 
uot  and  will  not  forgive  my  father  and  mother;  biit  that  will 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  41 

aot  mend  matters,  since,  nevertheless,  hern  I  am,  with  a  body  ta 
feed  and  clotlie,  and  God  only  knows  how  I  am  to  accomplish 
it.  I  find  myself  with  youth,  health,  some  beauty,  an  average 
share  of  intellect,  and  all  the  wants  pertaining  thereunto.  If  th* 
worst  comes  to  the  worst  I  suppose  [  can  contrive,  like  other 
poverty-stricken  girls,  to  marry  some  <ody  who  will  suppcit  me 
somfortably ;  but  that  is  rather  an  uncertain  speculation,  antJ 
meantime  Miss  Jane  might  die.  Xow,  if  the  Bible  is  true,  it 
must  indeed  bo  a  blessed  lot  to  be  born  a  brown  sparrow,  and 
havs  the  Lord  for  a  commissary.  I  am  a  genuine  child  of  old 
Adam,  and  labor  is  the  heaviest  curse  that  could  possibly  be 
Kent  upon  me.'* 

Once  or  twice  during  this  profitless  reverie  she  had  paused 
to  listen  to  a  singular  sound  that  came  from  a  dense  group  of 
willows  not  far  from  the  spot  where  she  sat,  and  now  it  grew 
louder,  swelling  into  a,  measured  cry,  as  of  a  child  in  great 
distress. 

"Somebody  in  trouble,  but  it  d-ws  not  concern  me;  I  have 
enough  and  to  spare,  oi'  my  own." 

She  settled  herself  once  more  qui^e  comfortably,  but  the  low, 
monotonous  wail,  smote  her  heart,  ax>d  womanly  sympathy  with 
suffering  strangled  her  constitutions!  selfishness.  Rising,  she 
crept  cautiously  along  i.he  edge  of  tho  pond  until  she  reached 
the  thicket  whence  the  sound  proceeded,  i'nd,  as  she  pushed  aside 
the  low  branches  and  peeped  into  the  cool,  green  nook,  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  figure  of  a  little  boy  who  la_y  on  the  ground,  rolling 
from  side  to  side  and  sobbing  violently. 

'•'What  is  the  matter?     Are  you  sick  or  LvTifcry?" 

Startled  by  the  sound  of  her  voice,  the  child  uttered  a  scream 
ijf  terror,  and  whirled  over,  hiding  his  face  "x  th^  leaves  and 

-•}•»'  .1  «wa 

^i.   £*SO. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  stop  howling!  \Vhat  are  you.  nbout,  — • 
sallowing  here  in  the  mud,  ruining  yc  ur  clothes,  ard  yelling 
5ko  a  hyena?  Hush,  and  get  up." 

"Oh,  please,  ma'am,  don't  tell  on  me!  Don't  cafy  n:e  '»t,v,k; 
smd  I  will  hush !  " 

"Where  do  you  live?" 
4* 


*2  UNTIL  VEA'iH  US  DO  PAST. 

"  Nowhere.     Oli !  —  oli !  "     And  he  renewed  his  erica. 

"A  probable  story.     What  is  yoxvr  Lame?" 

"Havn't  got  any  name." 

"You  ha-se  no  uame,  and  yoxi  live  nowhere?  Come,  littk 
fellow,  this  will  never  do.  I  an:  afraid  you  aro  a  very  bad  boy 
told  have  run  av  aj  from  home  to  escape  being  punished.  Hush 
ihis  instant ! ' ' 

He  had  kept  bis  face  carefully  concealed,  and,  resolved  tc 
ascertain  the  tiV'th,  Salome  stooped  and  tried  to  lift  him;  bui 
ho  struggled  desperately,  and  screamed  frantically, — 

"Let  me  aloie!  I  won't  go  back!  T  will  jump  into  the 
pond  and  drown  myself  if  you  don't  let  me  alone." 

He  was  so  hoarse  from  constant  crying  that  she  could  recog 
nize  no  familiar  tones  in  his  voice,  but  a  great  dread  seized  her, 
and,  suddenly  puHing  her  hands  under  his  head,  she  forced  the 
face  up,  and  look  3d  at  the  flushed,  swollen  features. 

" Stanley !      Is  it  possible?     My  poor  little  brother !  " 

The  equally  astonished  boy  started  up,  and  stared  half  wist 
fully,  half  fearfully,  at  the  figure  standing  before  him. 

"Is  it  you,  Salome?     I  did  not  know  you." 

"How  came  you  here?     When  did  you  leave  tho  Asylum?" 

"I  ran  away,  three  days  ago." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  was  tired  of  living  there,  and  I  wanted  to  come 
back  home." 

"Home,  Jideed!  You  miserable  beggar,  don't  you  kaow 
you  have  ,v:  home  but  the  Orphan  Asylum?" 

"  Yes,  I  have.  I  want  to  come  back  yonder.  Don't  you 
see  home  yonder,  among  the  trees,  with  the  pretty  white  and 
*peckled  pigeons  flying  over  it?" 

He  pointed  across  the  pond  to  the  old  house  beyond  the  mill, 
•jrhose  outlines  were  visible  through  the  openings  in  the  ek:is; 
and,  as  he  gazed  upon  it  with  that  intense  longing  so  touching 
in  a  child's  face,  his  sobs  increased. 

"St&nlej,  that  is  not  your  home  now.  Other  people  live 
Lhere,  and  you  have  no  right  to  come  back.  Why  did  you  ru« 
away  from  the  Asylum?  Did  they  treat  you  unkindly?" 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAHT.  43 

"Ho, —  yes.  They  whipped  me  because  I  cried  and  aiiid  I 
hated  to  stay  there,  and  wauled  to  come  home." 

Salome  looked  at  the  soiled,  torn  clothes,  and  sorrowful  face; 
and,  bursting  into  tears,  she  bent  forward  and  drew  her  brothel 
to  her  bosom.  He  put  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and  kissed 
her  cheek  several  times,  saying,  scftly  and  coaxingly, — 

"Sister  Salome,  you  won't  send  me  back  will  you?  Please 
let  me  stay  with  you,  and  I  will  be  a  good  boy." 

For  some  minutes  she  was  unable  to  reply,  and  wept  siicntl^ 
as  she  smoothed  the  tangled  hair  Lu^x  from  the  child's  white 
forehead  and  pressed  her  lips  to  it. 

"  Stanley,  how  is  Jessie?     Where  did  you  luive  her?" 

"She  is  well,  and  I  left  her  at  the  Asylum.  She  had  a  Ir.ng 
cry  the  night  T  ran  away,  and  said  she  wanted  to  see  you,  and 
she;  thought  you  had  forgotten  us  both.  You  know,  Salome,  it 
is  over  a  year  since  you  came  to  see  us,  and  Jessie  and  I  are  so 
lonesome  there,  we  hate  the  place." 

"What  wen;  you  crying  so  bitterly  about  when  I  found  you, 
just  now?" 

"  1  am  so  hungry,  and  the  man  who  lives  yonder  at  home 
drove  me  away.  He  said  I  was  prowling  around  to  steal  some 
thing,  and  if  he  saw  me  there  any  more  he  would  shoot  me. 
I  ate  my  last  piece  of  biscuit  yesterday." 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  me  instead  of  the  miller  ?  " 

''•  I  was  afraid  you  would  send  me  back  to  the  Asylum;  but 
vov.  won't,  —  J  kno\v  you  won't,  Salome." 

"Suppose  I  had  not  happened  to  hear  you  crying,  —  what 
would  have  become  of  you?  Did  you  intend  to  starve  here  in 
the  swamp?" 

"I  thought  I  would  wait  till  the  miller  left,  home,  and  then 
bog  his  wife  to  give  me  some  bread,  and,  if  I  could  get  nothing, 
I  was  going  to  pull  up  some  carrots  that  1  saw  growing  in 
&  field  back  of  the  hoxise.  Oh,  Salome,  I  am  so  hungry  and  sc 
tired ! " 

She  sat  down  on  a  heap  of  last  year's  leaves,  which  autumn 
winds  and  winter  rains  had  driven  against  the  trunk  of  a  de- 
sayed  ind  fallen  sweet-gum,  and,  drawing  the  weary  he*il  witfc 


44  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

its  shock  of  matted  yellow  cuils  to  her  lap,  she  covered  hei 
ovni  face  with  her  hands  to  hide  the  hot  tears  that  streamed 
over  her  cheeks. 

"Salome,  are  you  very  mad  with  me?" 

"Yes,  Stanley;  you  have  behaved  very  badly,  and  I  dorx'i 
mow  what  I  ought  to  do  with  you." 

He  tried  to  pnt  aside  one  of  her  shielding  hands,  and  failing 
wound  his  arms  around  her  waist,  and  nestled  as  close  as  pos 
sible. 

"Sister,  please  let  me  stay  and  live  with  you,  and  I  promise 
—  I  declare  —  I  will  be  a  good  boy." 

"  Poor  little  fellow  !  You  don't  in  the  least  know  what  you 
ore  talking  about.  How  can  you  live  with  me  when  1  have  no 
home,  and  not  a  dollar  ?  " 

"I  thought  you  stayed  with  a  rich  'ady,  and  had  everything 
nice  that  you  wanted." 

"  1  do  not  expect  to  have  even  a  shelter  much  longer.  The 
lady  who  takes  care  of  me  is  sick,  and  cannot  live  very  long ; 
and,  when  she  dies,  I  don't  know  where  I  shall  go  or  what  I 
may  be  obliged  to  do." 

"  If  you  will  only  keep  me  I  will  help  you  work.  At  the 
Asylum  I  saw  wood,  and  pick  peas,  and  pull  out  grass  and 
weeds  from  the  strawberry  vines,  and  sometimes  I  sweep  the 
yards.  Just  try  me  a  little  while,  Salome,  and  see  how  smart  1 
can  be." 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  leave  poor  little  Jessie  at  the 
Asylum?  If  she  felt  so  lonesome  when  you  were  there,  how 
will  she  get  along  without  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  we  could  steal  her  out  some  night,  and  keep  her  with 
us.  Salome,  I  tell  you  I  don't  mean  to  go  back  there.  I  wili 
die  lirst.  I  will  drown  myself,  or  run  away  to  sea.  I  would 
rather  starve  to  death  here  in  the  swamp.  Everybody  else  can 
get  a  home,  and  why  can't  we  ?  " 

¥  Because  your  father  was  a  drunkard,  and  left  his  children 
to  the  charity  of  the  poor-house;  and,  God  knows,  I  heartily 
wish  we  were  all  screwed  down  in  the  s^me  coihn  with  hint 
You  and  I,  Jessie,  and  Mark,  and  Joel,  are  all  beggars  —  iniso 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  FART.  40 

table  beggars!  Hush,  Stanley,  you  will  sob  ycHirself  into  a 
fever !  Stop  crying,  I  say,  if  you  do  not.  want  to  drive  me 
crazy !  I  thought  I  had  trouble  enough,  without  bemg  i,or- 
Eienied  by  the  sight  of  your  poor,  wretched  face;  and  now, 
'wliat  to  do  with  you  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  There  —  do  be 
quiet.  Take  your  arms  away  ;  I  don't  want  you  to  kisB  me  am 
more.'1 

In  the  long  silence  that  succeeded,  the  child,  spent  with  grief 
iiid  fatigue,  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  and  Salome  sat  with  his  head 
in  her  lap  and  her  clasped  hands  resting  on  her  knee. 

The  afternoon  slowly  wore  away,  and  the  dimpled  pond  caught 
lengthening  shadows  on  its  surface  as  the  suu  dipped  into  the 
forest.  The  measured  tinkle  of  a  distant  bell  told  that  the  cows 
were  wending  quietly  homeward;  and,  while  the  miller's  wife 
drove  her  geese  into  the  yard,  the  pigeons  nestled  in  their  leafy 
covert;;  high  among  the  elm  arches,  and  the  solemn  serenity  of 
coaling  summer  night  stole  with  velvet  tread  over  the  scene, 
bilencing  all  things  save  the  silvery  barcarolle  of  the  falling 
water,  and  the  sweet,  lonely  vesper  hymn  of  a  whippoorwill, 
half  hidden  ii\  the  solitary  cypress. 

Although  tears  came  very  rarely  to  her  eyes,  the  orphan  had 
wept  bitterly,  and,  surprised  at  finding  herself  so  completely 
unnerved  on  this  occasion,  she  made  a  powerful  effort  to  regain 
her  composing  and  usual  stolidity  of  expression.  Shaking  tie 
little  sleeper,  she  said, — 

"Wake  up,  Stanley.  Get  your  hat  and  come  with  me,  at 
Jeast  for  to-night." 

The  child  way  too  weary  to  renew  the  conversation,  andj 
kand  in  hand,  the  two  walked  silently  on  until  they  approached 
tiie  coniines  of  the  farm,  when  Salome  suddenly  paused  at  sight 
of  Dr.  Grey,  who  was  crossing  the  pino  forest  just  in  front  of 
&iem.  I" reusing  his  bister's  hand,  Stanley  looked  up  and  asked, 
fcixnidly,,  — 

(i  "W  hat  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  P  " 

"Hush  !      I  have  not  fully  decided." 

She  endeavored  to  elude  observation  by  standing  clo?<x.  to  the 
bo-dy  of  a  large  pine,  but  Dr.  Grey  caught  a  glimpse  of  t"r  fl.u- 


46  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

tering  dress,  and  came  forward  rapidly,  carrying  in  his  arms  on 
young  lamb  and  driving  another  be-fore  him. 

"  Salome,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  assist  nie  in  shepherding 
this  obstinate  little  waif?  It  has  been  running  hither  and 
thither  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  taking  every  direction  but  the 
right  one.  If  you  will  either  walk  on  and  lower  the  bars  for 
me  or  drive  this  lamb  while  T  go  forward,  you  will  greatly 
oblige  me.  Pardon  me, — you  look  distressed  Something 
painful  has  occurred,  I  fear." 

The  ga-l's  usually  firm  mouth  trembled  as  she  laid  her  hand 
on  the  torn  straw  hat  that  shaded  Stanley's  features,  and  an 
swered,  hurriedly,  — 

"  Yes.  We  have  both  stumbled  upon  stray  lambs ;  but  mine, 
unfortunately,  happens  to  prove  my  youngest  brother,  and, 
since  1  am  neither  lieuben  nor  Judah,  1  could  not  leave  him  in 
the  woods  to  perish.  Stanley,  run  on  and  pull  down  the  burs 
yonder,  where  you  see  the  sheep  looking  through  the  fence." 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"About  eight  years,  1  believe,  but  he  is  small  for  his  age." 

"  He  does  not  in  the  least  resemble  you." 

"  No ;  pitiable  little  wretch,  he  looks  like  nothing  but  desti 
tution  !  When  a  poor  man  dies,  leaving  a  houseful  of  beggarly 
orphans,  the  State  ought  to  require  the  undertaker  who  buriea 
him  to  shoot  or  hang  the  whole  brood,  and  lay  them  all  in  the 
Potter's  Field  out  of  the  world's  way." 

"  Such  words  and  sentiments  are  strangely  at  variance  with 
the  afiectionate  gentleness  and  resignation  which  be*L  become 
womanly  lips,  and  I  pity  the  keen  suffering  that  wrings  them 
from  yours.  He  who  'setteth  the  solitary  in  families'  never 
yet  failed  in  loving  guardianship  of  trusting  orphanage,  and 
certainly  you  have  no  cause  to  upbraid  fate,  or  impiously  mur 
mur  against  the  decrees  of  your  God." 

He  stood  before  her,  with  one  hand  stroking  the  head  of  the 
lamb  that  nestled  on  his  bosom ;  bnt  bis  face  was  sterner,  his 
voice  far  more  severe,  than  she  had  ever  known  either  tn-fore, 
and  her  eyes  fell  beneath  the  grave  and  sorrowful  rebuke  whicV 
looked  out  from  bis. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  47 

"Tour  brother  ran  away  from  the  Asylum,  three  days  ago." 

'*  How  did  you  ascertain  that  fact  ?  " 

"•  About  an  hour  after  you  left  the  house,  the  matron  cf  th« 
Asylum  sent  to  inquire  whether  you  were  aware  of  his  absence, 
and  to  notify  you  that  your  little  sitter  Jessie  is  quite  ill.  3 
was  searching  for  you,  when  I  accidentally  found  these  lambs, 
lesorted  by  their  motliei.  Thank  you,  Stanley ;  1  will  put  \ip 
Vib.3  bars,  and  you  can  go  to  the  house  with  your  sister.  Salome, 
ihe  carriage  is  ready,  and  if  you  desire  to  see  Jessie  immediately 
f  will  take  you  over  as  soon  as  possible.  There  is  a  full  moon, 
and  you  can  return  with  me  or  remain  at  the  Asylum  until 
morning.  Confer  with  my  sister  concerning  the  disposal  of  this 
little  refugee." 

He  patted  the  boy's  head,  and  entered  the  sheepfold,  while 
Salome  stood  leaning  against  the  fence,  looking  vacantly  down 
at  the  bleating  flock. 

Ca/tching  her  brother's  hand,  she  hurried  to  the  house,  bathed 
his  face,  brushed  his  disordered  hair,  and  gave  him  a  bountiful 
pupper  of  bread  and  milk ;  after  which,  Jane  Grey  ordered  the 
Uttle  culprit  brought  to  her  bedside,  where  she  delivered  a  kind 
lecture  on  his  sinful  disobedience.  When  Dr.  Grey  entered  the 
room,  Salome  was  standing  at  the  window,  while  Stanley  cbmg 
to  her  dress,  hiding  his  face  in  its  folds,  vowing  vehemently 
that  he  would  not  return  to  the  Asylum,  and  protesting  with 
many  sobs  that  he  would  be  the  best  boy  in  the  world  if  Ii6 
ware  only  allowed  to  remain  at  the  farm. 

"  Salome,  do  quiet  him ;  he  will  fret  himself  into  a  fever,'1 
Baid  Miss  June,  whose  nerves  began  to  quiver  painfully. 

"  He  has  it  already,"  answered  the  girl,  without  turning  her 
head.  She  did  not  observe  Dr.  Grey's  entrance,  and  when  he 
approached  the  window,  where  the  mellow  moonshine  streamed 
full  on  her  face,  he  saw  tears  stealing  over  her  cheeks,  anJ 
noticed  that  her  fingers  were  clenched  tightly. 

"  Salome,  do  you  wish  to  see  Jessie  to-night  ?  She  has  had 
convulsions  during  the  day,  and  nay  not  live  until  morning." 

She  looked  up  at  his  grave,  nrble  countenance,  and  her  $psr 
Buttered  as  she  answered,  huskily,  — 


S  rTNTfL  DEATH  US  DC  PAST. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  for  her,  aud  why  should  I  see  her  die?  n 

'*  To  whose  care  was  8he  committed  by  her  dying  mother  ?  " 

"To  mine." 

"  Have  you  faithfully  kept  the  sacred  trust  ?  " 

"1  did  a1!  that  I  could  until  Miss  Jane  placed  her  in  th« 


"  Does  your  conscicuco  acquit  you  ?  " 

She  silently  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  foi  soiu* 
»*3conds  he  watched  her  anxiously. 

"  Have  you  and  Janet  decided  what  shall  be  done  with 
Stanley  ?"" 

"  No  ;  the  longer  I  ponder  the  matter,  the  more  confused  my 
nind  becomes." 

"  Will  you  leave  it  in  my  hands,  and  abide  by  my  decision?  *' 

"  Yes,  gladly." 

"You  promise  to  be  satisfied  with  any  course  upon  which  1 
may  resolve  ?  " 

Looking  up  quickly,  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  1  trust  you,  fully.     Do  what  you  think  best." 

Dr.  Grey  put  his  haud  under  Stanley's  chin,  and,  lifting  hia 
face,  examined  his  countenance  and  felt  his  pulse. 

"He  is  only  frightened  and  fatigued.  Put  him  to  bed  at 
once  in  your  room,  and  then  let  mo  take  you  to  see  little  Jessie. 
If  you  fail  to  go,  you  might  reproach  yourself  in  coming  years." 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  door  of 
the-  Asylum,  and  Salome  and  Dr.  Grey  went  up  to  the 
u  Infirmary,"  where  the  faithful  matron  sat  beside  ono  of  the 
iil'le  beds,  watching  the  deep  slumber  of  the  flushed  and 
exhausted  sleeper. 

The  disease  had  almost  spent  its  force,  the  crisis  wsvs  passed, 
and  the  attending  physician  had  pronounced  the  patient  much 
better  ;  still,  when  Salome  stooped  to  kiss  her  sister,  the  matron 
held  her  back.,  assuring  her  that  perfect  quiet  was  essential  for  hei 
recovery.  Kneeling  there  beside  the  motherless  girl,  Salome  noted 
the  changes  that  time  and  suffering  had  wrought  on  the  delicate 
features  ;  and,  as  she  listened  to  the  quick,  irregular  breathing,  the 
fountain  of  ten  ierness  was  suddenly  unsealed  in  her  owu  nature, 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  49 


and  s£e  put  out  her  arms,  yea.rni.og  to  clasp  Jessie  to  her 
So  strong  were  Lor  emotions,  so  keen  was  her  regrec  for  past 
indifference  and  neglect,  that  she  lost  all  self-control,  and,  unaW<- 
to  cluok.  her  passionate  weeping,  Dr.  Grey  led  her  froro  tiie 
room,  promising  to  bring  hei:  again  when  the  sick  chilci  wu 
Erjficiently  strong  to  bear  the  interview. 

During  the  rule  homeward  ho  made  no  effort  to  divert  hai 
thoughts  or  relieve  her  anxiety,  knowing  that  although,  severe 
it  was  a  healthful  regimen  for  her  long  indurated  heart,  and  -vas 
the  renaissance  of  her  better  nature. 

When  they  arrived  at  home;,  the  moon  was  shining  bright  and 
full,  and,  as  they  waited  on  the  gallery  for  a  servant  to  open  J  ae 
door,  Dr.  Grey  drew  most  favorable  auguries  from  the  chastened, 
blanched  face,  with  its  humbled  and  grieved  expression. 

"•  Salome,  I  shall  for  the  present  keep  Stanley  here;  and,  urtil 
I  can  make  some  satisfactory  arrangement  •".-ith  reference  to  his 
education,  I  would  be  glad  to  have  you  hear  his  recitations  every 
day.  Have  you  the  requisite  leisure  to  superintend  his  lessons?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  have  not  deserved  this  kindness  from  you,  Dr. 
Grey;  but  I  thank  you,  from  niy  inmost  heart.  You  are  good 
enough  to  forgive  my  many  offences,  and  1  shall  not  «oon  forget 
it."  " 

'•'  Salome,  you  owe  me  no  gratitude,  but  there  is  much  for 
which  you  should  go  down  on  your  knees  and  fervently  thank 
your  merciful  God.  My  young  friend,  will  you  do  this;"' 

lie  extended  his  hand,  and,  unal/le  to  utter  a  word.  Sal  ome 
gave  liiiu  hers,  fur  a  second  only,  and  has!  ened  to  her  own  room, 
where  Stanley's  fair  face  lay  in  the  golden  moonlight,  radian*; 
vri'.ii  Lappy  dreams  of  white  pigeons  and  pet  lands. 
5 


00  UNTIL   DEATH   Ux  DO  PA8T. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

[)£PT  strangle  me,  Jessie!  Put  down  your  arms.  «*:* 
listen  to  me.  Sobbing  will  not  mend  matUrs;  *iid 
you  might  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  be  patient, 
Of  course  I  should  like  to  take  you  with  me,  if  1  had  a  home ; 
but,  as  I  told  you  just  now,  we  are  HO  poor  that  we  must  live 
where  we.  can,  not  where  we  prefer.  Because  I  wear  nice  pretty 
clothes  do  yo\i  suppose  I  have  a  pocketful  of  money?  1  have 
not  a  cent  to  buy  even  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  I  can't  ask  Miss  Jane 
to  take  care  of  you  as  well  as  of  Stanley  and  myself.  Poor  little 
thing,  don't  cry  so !  I  know  you  are  lonely  here  without 
Stanley/  but  it  can't  be  helped.  Jessie,  don't  you  see  that  it  can 
not  be  helped  'f  "* 

"  I  don't  eat  so  very  much,  and  I  could  sleep  with  Buddie 
<md  wouldn't  be  in  the  way,  —and  I  tan  wear  my  old  clothe* 
Oh,  please,  Salome !  I  will  die  if  you  leave  me  here." 

"You  will  do  no  such  tiling;  you  are  getting  well  as  fast  as 
possible.  Crying  never  kills  people,  —  it  only  makes  their  heads 
ache,  and  their  eyes  red  and  ugly.  See  here,  if  you  don't  stop  all 
this,  I  shall  quit  coming  to  see  you !  Do  you  hear  what  I  say?" 

The  only  reply  was  a  fresk  sob,  which  the  child  strove  to 
smother  by  hiding  her  face  in  Salome's  lap. 

The  matron,  who  sat  by  the  open  window,  looked  up  from  the 
button-hole  she  was  working,  and,  clearing  her  throat,  said, — 

"Better  let  her  have  her  cry  out,  —  that  is  the  surest  cure 
for  such  troubles  as  hers.  She  was  always  manageable  and  good 
enough  imtil  Stanley  ran  away,  and  since  then  she  does  nothing 
but  mope  and  bite  her  finger-nails.  Cry  away,  Jessie,  and  have 
ione  with  it.  Ah,  miss,  the  saddest  featrre  about  Asylums  in 
the  separation  of  families ;  and  if  the  matron  had  a  heart  of  stone 
it  would  melt  sometimes  at  sight  of  these  little  motherless  1  lungs 
clinging  to  each  other.  I'm  sure  I  have  shed  a  gallon  of  tears 
aince  I  came  here.  It  is  a  fearfuJ  responsibility  to  take  charge 
of  an  institution  like  this,  for  if  I  try  to  make  the  ciuJUIren  re« 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  51 

spect  my  authority,  and  behave  themselves  r>roperly,  outsiders, 
especially  tlie  neighbors,  say  I  am  too  severe ;  and  if  I  let 
them  frolic  and  romp  and  make  as  much  din  and  uproar  as  they 
like,  why,  then  the  same  folks  scandalize  me  and  the  managers, 
and  pay  there  is  no  sort  of  discipline  maintained.  I  verily  believe, 
taiss,  that  if  an  angel  came  down  from  heaven  to  matroniae 
'kese  children,  before  six  months  elapsed  all  the  godliness  would 
be  worried  out  of  her  soul  by  the  slanders  of  the  public  and 
the  .squabbles  of  the  children.  Now  I  don't  profess  to  be  an 
angel,  but  I  do  claim  a  conscience,  and  God  knows  I  make  it  a 
rule  to  treat  these  orphans  exactly  as  I  treated  my  own  and 
only  child,  whom  I  buried  three  years  ago.  Do  you  suppose 
that  any  woman  who  has  laid  her  first-born  in  its  coffin  could 
be  brutal  enough  to  maltreat  poor  little  motherless  lambs?  1 
don't  deny  that  sometimes  I  am  compelled  to  punish  them,  for  it 
is  as  much  my  duty  to  whip  them  for  bad  conduct  as  to  Bee 
that  their  meals  are  properly  cooked  and  their  clothes  kept  in 
order.  AMI  1  to  let  them  grow  up  thieves  and  liars?  Must 
I  stand  by  and  soo  them  will  out  each  other's  hair  and  bite  off 
one  another's  ears?" 

"Of  course  not,  Mrs.  Collins.  You  must  preserve  some 
discipline." 

"  Must  1  ?  Well,  miss,  I  will  show  you  how  beautifully  that 
sounds  and  how  poorly  it  worLs.  There  is  your  brother  Stanley 
(I  mean  no  offence,  miss,  but  special  cases  explain  better  thaa 
generalities), —  there's  your  brother  Stanley,  who  ran  away  — 
for  what?" 

*' Because  he  was  homesick  and  wanted  to  see  me." 

':  No  such  thing,  begging  your  pardon.  Perhaps  he  told  yod 
•..U>.it,  but  remember  there  are  always  two  sides  to  every  tale. 
rha  truth  of  the  matter  is  just  this:  Stanley  has  an  ugly  habit 
;  f  cursing,  which  I  will  not  tolerate ;  and,  twice  when  I  heard 
him  swearing  at  the  other  children,  I  shamed  him  well  and 
slapped  him  soundly.  Last  week  I  told  him  and  Joe  Clark  to 
shell  a  basket  of  peas,  while  the  cook  was  making  some  ginger 
bread  for  ttem,  and  before  I  was  out  of  the  room  they  commenced 
quarrelling.  They  raised  such  an  uproar  that  I  cam«  back  ait4 


62  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

saw  tlie  whole  fray.  Stanley  cursed  Joe,  who  expostulated  anc 
tried  to  pacify  him,  and  when  he  finally  threatened  to  tell  me 
that  Stanley  was  cursing  again,  your  brother  snatched  a  hatchet 
that  was  lying  on  the  dresser  and  swore  he  would  kill  him  if  he 
did.  He  aimed  a  blow  at  Joe's  head,  but  slipped  on  the  pea- 
imlle,  and  the  hatchet  struck  the  boy's  right  foot,  cutting  off  one 
af  his  toes.  Now  what  would  you  have  done,  under  the  circum 
stances, — allowed  the  children  to  be  tomahawked  in  that  style? 
You  say  1  must  have  discipline.  Well,  miss,  I  tried  to  '  discipline' 
Stanley's  wickedness  out  of  him  by  giving  him  a  whipping,  and 
the  end  of  the  matter  was  that  he  ran  away  that  afternoon.  That 
is  not  the  worst  of  it, —  for  the  children  all  know  the  facts,  and 
since  they  find  that  Stanley  Owen  can  run  away  and  be  sustained 
in  his  disobedience,  of  course  it  tends  to  demoralize  them.  So 
I  say  that  if  I  do  my  duty  I  am  lashed  by  the  tongues  of 
people  who  know  nothing  of  the  circumstances ;  and  if  I  fail  to 
perform  my  duty  I  ann  lashed  by  my  own  conscience,  —  and 
between  the  two  I  have  a  sorrowful  time ;  for  I  declare  to  you, 
miss,  that  Stephen's  martyrdom  was  a  small  affair  in  comparison 
with  what  I  pass  through  every  week.  I  love  the  children  and 
try  to  be  kind  to  them,  but  I  can't  have  them  cursing  and  swear 
ing  like  sailors,  and  sculping  each  other.  I  must  either  raise 
them  like  Christians,  or  resign  my  situation  to  some  one  who  is 
{ wise  as  serpents  and  harmless  as  doves.'  It  is  all  very  fine  to 
talk  of  'proper  discipline'  in  charitable  institutions;  but,  miss, 
in  the  name  of  common  sense,  how  can  I  get  along  unless  the 
friends  of  the  children,  sustain  me?  Did  you  punish  Stanley, 
»nd  send  him  back?  On  the  contrary,  you  countenanced  his  bad 
conduct  and  kept  him  with  you,  and  it  is  perfectly  natural  that 
little  Jessie  here  should  be  dissatisfied  and  anxious  to  join  him. 
I  can't  scold  her,  for  I  know  she  misses  her  brother,  who  was 
always  very  tender  and  considerate  in  his  treatment  of  her." 

"'I  appreciate  the  difficulties  which  snrround  you,  and  believe 
that  you  are  conscientiously  striving  to  do  your  duty  towards 
these  children ;  but  I  knew  that  if  I  compelled  Stanley  to  return 
it  would  augment  instead  of  correcting  the  mischief." 

At  this  juncture  the  matron  was  summoned  from  the  room. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART.  53 

and,  during  the  silence  that  ensued,  Jessie  c  imbed  into  her  sister's 
lap,  wound  her  thin  arms  around  her  neck,  and  softly  rubbed  her 
p;.ile  cheek  against  the  polished  rosy  face,  where  perplexity  and 
annoyance  were  legibly  written. 

"  Salome,  don't  you  love  me  a  little  ?  " 

''  Of  course  I  do  ;  Jessie,  don't  be  so  foolish."' 

"  Please  let  me  go  with  you  and  Stanley." 

"Do  you  want  to  starve,  —  you  poor  silly  thing?" 

"Yes;  I  would  rather  starve  with  Buddie  than  stay  hero  h/ 
myself." 

"  I  want  to  hear  no  more  of  such  nonsense.  You  have  not 
tried  starving,  and  you  are  too  young  to  know  what  is  really  for 
your  good.  Now,  listen  to  me.  At  present  I  arn  obliged  to  leave 
you  here, —  come,  don't  begin  crying  again.;  but,  if  you  will  bo 
a  good  girl  and  try  not  to  fret  over  what,  cannot  be  lieiped,  1 
promise  you  that  just  as  soon  as  I  can  possibly  support  you  I 
will  take  you  to  live  with  me." 

"  How  lang  must  I  wait?  " 

"  Until  I  make  money  enough  to  feed  and  clothe  you." 

"  Can't  you  guess  when  you  can  come  for  me  ?  " 

"No,  for  as  yet  I  know  not  ho\v  I  can  earn  a  dollar;  but,  if 
you  will  be  patient,  I  promise  to  work  hard  for  you  and 
Stanley. " 

"  I  will  be  good.  Salome,  I  have  saved  a  quarter  of  a  dollar 
that  the  doctor  gave  me  'when.  I  was  sick, — because  [  let  the 
blister  stay  on  my  side  a  half  hour  longer;  and  I  thought  I 
would  send  it  to  Buddie,  to  buy  him  some  marbles  or  a  kite ;  but 
I  reckon  I  had  better  give;  it  to  you  to  help  \is  get  a  house." 

She  drew  from  her  pocket  a  green  calico  bag,  and,  emptying 
the  contents  into  her  hand,  picked  out  from  among  brass  buttosa 
and  bits  of  broken  glass  a  silver  coin,  which  she  held  up 
fc'duj  aphantly. 

"  No,  Jessie, — keep  it.  Stanley  has  plenty  of  playthings,  and 
you  may  need  it.  Besides,  your  quarter  would  not  go  far,  and 
I  <lo:vt  want  it.  Good-bye,  little  darling.  Try  to  give  Mrs. 
Collins  no  trouble,  and  recollect  that  when  I  promise  you  any- 
Ailing  I  shall  be  sure  to  keep  my  word." 
5' 


b4  UNTIL  DEATH    ~JS  DO  PART. 

Salome  drew  the  child's  head  tx>  her  shouldei,  and,  a*,  she 
over  and  kissed  the  sweet,  pure  lips,  Jessie  whispered,  "  When 
we  say  our  prayers  to-night,  we  will  ask  God  to  send  us  some 
IUGIIG^  to  buy  a  Louie,  won't  we  ?  You  know  he  made  the  bird* 
foed  Elijah." 

"'But  we  are  njt  prophets,  and  ravens  are  not  flying  about 
» ith  bugs  of  money  mider  their  wings." 

"  Wo  do  not  know  what  God  can  do,  and  if  we  are  only  t^ood, 
He  is  as  much  bound  to  take  care  of  us  as  of  Elijah.  He  made 
the  sky  rain  manna  and  partridges  for  the  starving  people  in  the 
desert,  and  He  is  as  much  our  God  as  if  we  came  out  from 
Egypt  under  Moses.  I  know  God  will  help  us,  if  we  ask  Iliiiu 
1  am  sure  of  it;  for  last  week  1  lost  Mrs.  Collins'  bunch  of  keys, 
aud,  when  1  could  not  find  them  anywhere,  1  prayed  to  God  to 
help  me,  and,  sure  enough,  1  remembered  I  left  them  in  the  dairy 
where  1  was  churning." 

Jessie's  countenance  was  radiant  with  hope  and  faith,  which 
her  sister  could  not  share,  yet  felt  unwilling  to  destroy ;  and, 
checking  the  heavy  sigh  that  rose  from  her  oppressed  heart,  she 
hastily  quitted  the  house. 

In  the  midst  of  confused  and  perturbed  reflections,  rose 
like  some  lonely  rock-based  beacon  iu  boiling  waves  her  sacred 
promise  k>  the  trusting  child,  and  ingenuity  was  racked  to  devise 
some  means  for  its  prompt  fulfilment.  Consanguinity  began  to 
urge  its  claim  vehemently,  and  long  dormant  tenderness  pleaded 
piteuuslj  for  exiled  idols. 

"  If  I  were  only  a  Christian,  like  Dr.  Grey  !  His  faith,  like 
strong  wings,  bears  him  high  above  all  sloughs  of  despond,  all 
morasses  of  moodiness.  People  cannot  successfully  or  profitably 
serve  two  masters.  That  is  eminently  true;  not  because  it  is 
scriptural,  but  vice  versa;  because  ib  is  so  obviously  true  it 
xnild  not  escape  a  place  in  the  Bible.  Half  work  pays  poor 
wages,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  neither  God  nor  Mammon 
will  patiently  submit  to  it.  I  suppose  the  time  has  come  when 
[  must  bargain  myself  to  one  or  the  other ;  for,  hitherto,  I  have 
declared  in  favor  of  neither.  I  am.  not  altogether  sanctified,  nor 
yet,  desperately  wicked,  but  I  hate  Sauai,  who  ruined  my  father, 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  54 

infinite)}  move  than  I  dislike  the  restrictions  of  religion.  I  owe 
him  a  grudge  for  all  the  shame  and  suffering  of  my  childhood, — 
which,  if  God  did  not  interfere  to  prevent,  at  least  there  is 
strong  presumptive  evidence  that  lie  took  no  pleasure  in  wit 
nessing.  I  don't  suppose  I  have  any  faith ;  I  scarcely  know 
Trl'.ai  it  means;  but  perhaps  if  1  try  to  serve  God  instead  of 
~i}self,  it  will  come  to  me  as  it  came  to  Paul  and  Thomas.  I 
Koiider  whether  mere  abstract  love  of  righteousness  and  of  the 
Lord  drives  half  as  many  persons  into  Christian  churches  as 
the  fear  of  eternal  perdition.  I  don't  deny  that  I  am  afraid  of 
Satan,  for  if  he  contrives  to  smuggle  so  much  sin  and  sorrow 
into  this  world  what  must  his  own  kingdom  be  ?  If  there  be 
any  truth  in  the  tradition  that  every  human  being  is  afflicted  bj 
some  besetting  sin  that  crouches  at  the  door  of  the  soul,  lying 
in  ainbush  to  destroy  it,  then  rny  own  '  Dweller  of  the  Thresh 
old,'  is  love  of  mine  ease.  Time  was  when  T  would  have 
bartered  my  eternal  heritage  for  a  good-sized  mess  of  earthly 
pottage,  provided  only  it  was  well  spiced  and  garnished ;  but 
co-day  T  have  no  inclination  to  bo  swindled  like  Esau.  Idleness 
Ims  well-nigh  ruined  me,  KG  1  shall  take  industry  by  the  horns, 
and  laying  thereon  all  my  sins  of  indolence,  drive  it  before  me 
us  t'ue  Jews  drove  Apopompueus." 

She  walked  on  in  the  direction  of  the  town,  turning  her  heaa 
neither  to  right  nor  left,  and  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  blue 
air  before  her,  whc-re  imagination  built  a  home,  through  whose 
spacious  halls  Stanley  and  Jessie  sported  at  will.  On  the  prin 
cipal  street  stood  a  fashionable  dress-making  and  millinery 
establishment,  and  thither  Salome  bent  her  steps,  resolved  thai 
the  sun  should  not  set  without  having  witnessed  some  effort  tc 
redeem  the  pledge  given  to  Jessie- 
Panoplied  in  Miss  Jane's  patronage,  she  demanded  and  ;.b 
tained  admission  to  the  inner  apartment  of  this  Temple  <.  i 
Fashion,  where  presided  the  Pythoness  whose  oracular  utter 
ances  swayed  le  beau  monde. 

What  passed  between  the  two  never  transpired,  even  among 
the  apprentices  that  thronged  tf.e  adjoining  room  ;   but   when 


»6  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PATH. 

Salome  left  the  house  she  carried  imder  her  arm  a  large  >undl» 
whicn  furnished  work  for  the  ensuing  fortnight. 

Evening  shadows  overtook  her,  while  yet  a  mile  distant  from 
home,  and  as  she  passed  a  small  cottage,  where  candle-light 
flared  through  the  open  window,  she  su.w  Dr.  Grey  stand] ag 
beside  the  bed,  on  which,  doubtless,  lay  some  sufferer. 

Ere  many  moments  had  elapsed,  she  heard  his  well  knowr 
footstep  on  the  rocky  road,  and  involuntarily  paused  to  greot 
him. 

"What  called  you  to  old  Mrs.  Peterson's  ?  " 

"  Her  youngest  grandchild  is  very  ill  witli  brain  fever ;  so  UJ 
that  I  shall  return  and  sit  up  with  him  to-night." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  physicians  condescended  to  act  as  mere 
nurses,  —  to  execute  their  own  orders." 

"Then  [  fear  you  have  formed  a  very  low  estimate  of  the 
sacred  responsibilities  of  my  profession,  or  of  the  characters  of 
those  who  represent;  it.  The  true  physician  combines  the  oilices 
of  surgeon,  doctor,  nurse,  and  friend." 

"Mrs.  Peterson  is  almost  destitute,  and  to  a  great  extent 
dependent  on  charity;  consequently  you  need  not  expect  tc 
collect  any  fee." 

"  Knowing  her  poverty,  I  attend  the  family  gratuitously." 

"  Is  not  your  charity-list  a  very  long  one?  " 

"  Could  I  divest  myself  of  sympathy  with  the  sufferings  cf 
those  who  compose  it  I  would  not  curtail  it  one  iota ;  for  I  fe,f  1 
Like  Boerhaave,  who  once  said,  '  My  poor  are  my  best  patients ; 
God  pays  for  them.'  " 

"  Then,  after  all,  you  are  actuated  merely  by  selfishness,  and 
remit  payments  in  earthly  dross,  —  in  '  filthy  lucre,'  —  in  order 
to  collect  your  fees  in  a  better  currency,  where  thieves  do  not 
break  through  nor  steal  ?  " 

" '  lie  that  oppresseth  the  poor  reproacheth  his  Maker ;  but 
he  tint  honoreth  Him,  hath  mercy  on  the  poor.'  If  a  tinge  of 
*elns!mess  mingle  with  the  hope  of  future  reward,  it  will  be 
forgiven,  I  trust,  by  the  great  Physician,  who,  in  sublimating 
human  nature,  seized  upfu  its  selfish  elements  as  powerful 
agencies  in  tb<5  regeneration  of  mankind.  An  abstract  worship 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO   PART.  ft? 

ef  -virtue  is  scarcely  possible  while  humanity  ia  clothed  witJs 
clay,  and  I  am  not  unwilling  to  confess  that  hope  cf  eternal 
compensation  influences  my  conduct  in  many  respects.  If  this 
be  indeed  only  subtle  selfishness,  at  least  we  shall  be  pardoned 
by  Him  who  promised  to  prepare  a  place  iii  the  Father's  man 
sion  for  those  who  follow  Ilis  footsteps  among  the  poor." 

She  looked  up  at  liim,  with  a  puzzled,  searching  expression, 
:.'i:u,t  arrested  his  attention,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"How  singularly  honest  you  are!  I  believe  I  could  have 
faith  if  there  were  more  like  you." 

;<  Faith  in  what  ?  " 

"  In  the  nobility  of  my  race,  —  in  the  possibility  of  my  own 
improvement,  —  in  the  watchful  providence  of  God." 

"Salome,  there  is  much  sound  philosophy  in  the  eighty- 
seventh  and  eighty-ninth  maxims  of  cynical  .Rochefoucauld,  'It 
is  more  disgraceful  to  distrust  one's  friends  than  to  be  deceived 
by  them.  Our  mistrust  justifies  the  deceit  of  others.'  My 
opportunities  have  be.m  favorable  for  studying  various  classea 
of  men,  and  my  own  experience  corroborates  the  truth  of  Mon 
taigne's  sagacious  rem;irk,  'Confidence  in  another  man's  virtue 
is  no  slight  evidence  of  a  man's  own.'  Try  to  cultivate  trust 
In  your  fellow  creatures,  and  the  bare  .show  of  faith  will  some- 
times  create  worth." 

"Did  Christ's  show  of  confidence  in  Judas  save  him  from 
betrayal?" 

"Let  us  hope  that  he  was  the  prototype  of  a  very  limited 
class.  You  must  not  expect  to  i'md  mankind  divided  into  two 
great  castes  —  one  all  angels,  the  other  comprising  hopeless 
demons.  On  the  conlrary,  noble  and  most  ignoble  impulses 
i'h-rnately  sway  the  a/.-tions  and  thoughts  of  the  majority  of 
mi  race;  and  the  saint  of  to-day  is  cot  unfrequently  tempted 
•'.o  become  the  fiend  of  to-morrow.  Remember  that  the  conflict 
.vlth  sinful  promptings  begins  in  he  cradle  —  ends  only  in  th« 
coilin, —  and  try  to  be  more  charitable  in  vour  judgments." 

They  walked  a  few  yards  in  silence,  and  ut  length  Salon.it 
aaked, — 

"  Were  you  not  kept  up  all  of  last  night  ?  " 


68  UNTIL  DEATH   U8  DO  PART. 

"  Yea ;  I  was  obliged  to  ride  fifteen  miles  to  set  a  lislucaie* 
shoulder." 

"Then  you  must  be  exhausted  from  fatigue,  and  unfit  for 
watching  to-night.  Will  you  not  allow  me  to  relieve  you,  and 
take  charge  of  Mrs.  Peterson's  grandchild?  I  admit  I  am 
very  ignorant ;  but  I  will  faithfully  follow  your  directions,  aud 
I  think  you  may  venture  to  trust  me." 

Confusion  flushed  her  face  as  she  made  this  proposition,  but 
in  the  pale,  pearly  lustre  of  the  summer  starlight,  it  was  nol 
visible. 

"  Thank  you  heartily,  Salome.  I  could  implicitly  trust  your 
intentions,  but  the  case  is  almost  hopeless,  and  I  fear  you  arr 
too  inexperienced  to  render  it  safe  for  me  to  commit  the  cliild  to 
/our  care.  I  appreciate  your  kindness,  but  am  too  much  in 
terested  in  the  boy  to  leave  him  when  the  disease  is  at  its  crisis, 
and  a  cup  of  coffee  will  strengthen  me  for  the  vigil.  You  have 
been  to  the  Asylum  this  afternoon;  tell  me  something  about 
little  Jessie." 

"  She  is  still  rather  pale,  but  otherwise  seems  quite  well  again. 
Of  course  she  is  dissatisfied  since  Stanley  has  left,  and  thinks 
she  ought  to  be  allowed  to  follow  his  example ;  but  I  finally 
persuaded  her  to  remain  there  patiently,  at  least  for  the  present. 
It  is  well  that  the  poor  have  their  sensibilities  blunted  early  in 
life,  for  they  are  spared  many  sorrows  that  afilict  those  who  are 
pampered  by  fortune  and  rendered  morbidly  sensitive  by  years 
of  indulgence  and  prosperity." 

A  metallic  ring  had  crept  int»  her  voice,  hardening  it,  aud 
although  he  could  not  distinctly  see  her  countenance,  he  knew 
"ih&t  the  words  came  through  set  teeth. 

u  Salome,  I  hope  that  I  misunderstand  you." 

"  No ;  unfortunately,  you  thoroughly  comprehend  uie.  Dr. 
Grrty,  -were  you  situated  precisely  as  I  find  myself,  do  you  sup 
pose  you  would  feel  your  degradation  as  little  as  I  seem  to  do '( 
Do  you  think  you  would  relish  the  bread  of  charity  as  keenly 
as  one,  who,  for  courtesy's  sake,  shall  be  nameless?  Could 
you  calm-y  stand  by,  and  with  utter  sang  froid  see  your 
brothers  and  bisters  —  vour  own  flesh  and  blood  —  drift  OB 


UNTIL  MC  ATI!   r,S  P'}  PART.  M 


•Hory  ehanco  wave,  like  some  sodden  crust  or  witheied 
on  a  stormy,  treacherous  sea;1  Would  not  your  family  pridu 
bleed  and  die,  and  your  self-respect  wail  and  shrivel  and 
expire?  " 

''You  have  so  grossly  exaggerated  and  overeolorod  yew 
uioture  that  1  recognize  little  likeness  to  reality." 

'"  ]  neither  glo/e  nor  mask;  J  simply  front  the  facts,  win  ,i 
&re+  briefly,  that  you  were  nurtured  in  independence  and  train-.  *; 
to  abhor  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  other  people's  tables,  white 
all  heroic  aspirations  and  proud  chivalric  dreams  were  fed  by  th" 
milk  that  nourished  you;  whereas,  I  grew  up  in  the  wan,  sickly 
atmosphere  of  penury;  glad  to  grasp  the  r-nist  that,  chance 
offered;  taught  to  consider  the  bread  of  dependence  precious  as 
ambrosia;  willing  to  forget  family  ties  that  were  fraught  only 
wii.li  humiliation  and  wretchedness;  coveting  bounty  that  I  had 
not  sufficient  ambition  to  merit;  and  eager  to  live  on  charity,  as 
loug  as  it  could  be  coaxed,  hoodwinked,  or  scourged  into  sup 
porting  me  comfortably.  Yesterday  1  read  a  sentence  that 
might  have,  been  writ-ten  for  me,  so  felicitouslv  does  it  photo 
graph  me,  'Temperament  is  a  fate  oftentimes,  from  whose 
jurisdiction  its  victims  hardly  escape,  but  do  Us  bidding  herein. 
be  it  murder  or  martyrdom.  Virtues  and  crimes  are  mixed  in 
OTM^S  cup  of  nativity,  with  the  lesser  or  larger  margin  of  choice. 
JBlood  is  a  destiny?  You.  TJlpian  Grey,  are  what  you  are 
because  your  father  was  a  gentleman,  and  all  your  surroundings 
were,  luxurious  and  refined;  and  !.  the  miller's  child,  am  what 
you  seo  me  becaur,:1.  mv  fatuer  was  coarse  and  brutal;  because 
my  body  and  soul  struggled  with  staring  starvation,  —  physical, 
mental,  and  moral.  I«e  just,,  and  remember  these  things  when 
you  are  tempted  to  despise,  me  as  a  pitiable,  spiritless  parasite." 

"  My  little  friend,  you  have  most  unnecessarily  tortured  youi- 
c-r-if,  and  grieved  and  mortified  me.  Have  1  ever  treated  you 
icith  contempt  or  disrespect?  " 

"You  evidently  pity  me,  and  compassion  is  about  as  welcome 
Y-  njy  reelings  as  a  vitriol  bath  to  fresh  wounds." 

•;  Are  you  not  conscious  of  having  more  than  once  ajted  in 
'(:':•!;  ^5  manner  as  to  necessitate  my  compassion?" 


60  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

She  was  client  for  some  moments;  but  as  they  entered  th« 
•venue,  slio  said,  impetuously, — 

"  I  want  you  to  respect  me." 

"  If  you  respect  yourself  and  merit  my  good  opinion,  I  shall 
rot  withhold  it.  But  of  one  thing  let  me  assure  you ;  mj 
stardard  of  womanly  delicacy,  nobility,  gentlenesa,  and  Chrk 
iian  faith  is  very  exalted ;  and  I  cannot  and  will  not  lower  it. 
rven  to  meet  the  requirements  of  those  who  claim  my  friendship 
Thoroughly  cognizant  of  my  opinions  concernicg  several  sub 
jects,  you  have  more  than  once,  premeditatedly  and  obtrusively, 
outraged  them,  and  while  I  can  and  do  most  cordially  overlook 
the  offence,  you  should  not  deem  it  possible  for  mo  to  entertain 
a  very  lofty  estimate  of  the  offender.  "When  I  came  home  you 
cook  such  extraordinary  pains  to  convince  me  that  not  a  single 
noble  aspiration  actuated  you  that  I  confess  you  almost  suc 
ceeded  in  your  aim ;  but,  Salome,  I  hope  you  are  far  more 
generous  than  you  deign  to  prove  yourself,  and  I  promise  you 
my  earnest  respect  shall  not  lag  behind,  —  shall  promptly  keep 
pace  with  your  deserts.  You  can,  if  you  so  determine,  make 
yourself  an  attractive,  brilliant,  noble  woman;  an  ornament  — 
and  better  still  —  a  useful,  honored  menib«r  of  society;  but  the 
faults  of  your  character  are  grave,  and  only  prayer  and  consci 
entious,  persistent  efforts  can  entirely  correct  them.  I  am 
neither  so  unreasonable  nor  so  unjust  as  to  hold  you  accountable 
for  circumstances  beyond  your  control;  and,  while  I  warmly 
sympathize  with  all  your  sorrows,  I  know  that  you  arc  still 
sufficiently  young  to  rectify  the  unfortunate  warping  that  your 
Rdture  received  in  its  mournful  early  years.  To  ask  me  to 
respect  you  is  as  idle  and  useless  and  impotent  as  the  soft 
juuriuur  of  this  June  breeze  in  the  elm  boughs  above  us;  but 
you  can  command  my  perfect  coniidence  and  friendship  solely 
ou  condition  that  you  merit  it.  Salome,  something  very  unusual 
h*a  influenced  you  to-day,  forcing  you  to  throw  aside  the  rubbish 
that  y./u  patiently  piled  over  your  better  self  until  it  was  ef 
factually  concealed;  and,  if  you  are  willing  to  be  frank  with 
me,  I  should  be  glad  to  know  what  has  so  healthfully  affected 
yon.  1  beliave  I  can  guess :  has  not  little  Jessie  wooed  and 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  tAHT.  61 


her  sister's  heart,  melting  all  its  icy  selfishness  and 
its  holiest  recesses  ?  " 

Ai,  tbis  moment  Stanley  bounded  down  the  steps  to  meet 
them,  and,  beading  over  to  receive  his  kiss  and  embrace,  Salome. 
fjiadiy  evaded  a  reply.  That  night,  after  she  had  taught  her 
brother  his  lessons  for  the  next  day  and  made  him  repeat  th*, 
prayer  learned  in  the  dormitory  of  the  Asylum,  —  when  she  had 
f^ad  Miss  Jane  to  sleep  and  seen  the  doctor  set  out;  on  his 
mission  of  mercy,  she  brightened  the  lamplight  in  her  own  rocr,'i, 
and.  opening  the  parcel,  drew  out  aud  commenced  the  dainty 
embroidery  which  she  had  promised  should  be  completed  at  an 
early  day. 

The-  night  was  warm,  but  the  sea-breeze  sang  a  lullaby  in  the 
trees  that  peeped  in  at  her  window,  and  now  and  then  a  strong 
gusfc  blew  the  flame  almost  to  the  top  of  the  la  nip-chimney. 
Stanley  slept  soundly  in  his  trundle-bed,  occasionally  startling 
her  by  half-tittered  exclamations,  as  in  his  dreams  he  chased 
rabbits  or  found  partridge-eggs.  Oblivious  of  passing  hours., 
and  profoundly  immersed  in  speculations  concerning  her  future, 
the  girl  sewed  on,  working  scallop  after  scallop,  and  flower  after 
flower,  in  the  gossamer  cambric  between  her  slender  fingers. 
Stars  that  looked  upon  her  early  in  the  night  had  gone  down 
into  blue  abysms  below  the  horizon,  and  the  midnight  song  of  « 
mocking-bird,  swinging  in  a  lemon-tree  beneath  her  window,  had 
long  since  hushed  itself  with  the  chirp  of  crickets  and  gossip  of 
the  katydids. 

A  tap  on  the  facing  of  her  open  door  finally  aroused  her,  and 
ahe  hastily  attempted  to  hide  her  work,  as  Dr.  Grey  asked,  — 

"  What  keeps  you  up  so  late  ?  Are  you  dressing  a  doll  fos1 
Jessie?" 

"What  brings  you  home  so  early?     Is  your  patient  better?  '* 

"  Yes  ;  in  one  sense  he  is  certainly  better  ;  for,  free  from  alt 
pain,  he  rests  with  his  G-od." 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"  Half-past  three.  Little  Charles  died  about  an  hour  ago8 
and,  as  I  shall  be  very  busy  to-morrow,  I  came  upstairs  to  aak  if 
you  will  oblige  me  by  going  over  to  Mrs.  Peterson's  and  remain- 


62  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PA11T. 

Ing  -with  her  until  the  neighbors  assemble  in  the  morAixig.     I4 

is  an  unpleasant  <1  ity,  and  unless  you  are  perfectly  willing  T  will 

not  request  you  to  perform  it." 

"Certainly,  sir;  I  will  go  at  once.     Why  should  I  h<-:;itut«?  n 
"  Come  <lown   as  soon  as  you   are  ready,  and    I   will  makj 

II unison  drive  you  over  in  my  buggy.      A.S  it  Ls  only  a    nilo 

I   walked  home.'' 

Wlicii  she  stood  before  him,  waiting  for  the  servant  to  a  JjiiHt 

eoine  portion  of  the  harness,  Dr.  Grey  wrapped  her  shawl  more 

closeh  around  her,  and  said,  — 

"  What  new  freak  keeps  you  awake  till  four  o'clock  ?  " 

"It  is  no  freak,  but  the  beginning  of  a  settled  purpose  that 

reaches  in  numberless  ramifications  through  all  rny  coming  years. 

It  does  not  concern  you,  so  ask  me  no  more.     Good-night.     1 

suppose  1  ought  to  tender  you  my  thanks  for  deeming  me  worthy 

of  this  melancholy  mission ;  and  if  so,  pray  be  pleased  to  accept 

them." 


CHAPTER  V. 

|ANE,  have  you  heard  that  we  shall  soon  have 
new  neighbors  at  '  Solitude '  ?  " 

"  No ;  who  is  brave  enough  to  settle  there  ?  " 
u  Mrs.  Gerome,  a  widow,  has  pur  hased  and  refitted  the  hcus^ 
preparatory  to  making  it  her  home." 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  knows  the  history  of  its  i « mcr 
owners?" 

"  Probably  not,  as  she  has  never  seen  the  place.  The  pur 
chase  was  made  some  months  since  by  her  agent,  who  stated 
diat  she  was  in  Europe." 

"  Ulpian,  I  am  sorry  that  the  house  will  again  be  occupied, 
for  some  mournful  fatality  seems  to  have  attended  all  who  ev-f 
resided  there;  and  I  have  been  told  that  the  last  yropiietoi 
thanged  tfie  name  from  '  Solitude  '  to  *  Bochinx' " 


LNT1L   DEATH  US  DO  PART.  6S 

tc  YOTI  must  not  indulge  suc.i  superstitious  vagaries,  icy  dear, 
wise  Janet.  The  age  of  hobgoblins,  haunted  houses,  and  super 
natural  influences  has  passed  away  with  the  marvels  of  alchemy 
and  the  weird  myths  of  Rosicrucianism.  Because  many  deaths 
havt)  occurred  at  that  place,  and  the  residents  were  consequently 
plirnged  in  gloom,  you  must  not  rashly  impute  eldritch  influences 
to  the  atmosphere  surrounding  it.  Knowing  its  ghostly  cele 
brity,  I  Lave  investigated  the  grounds  of  existing  prejudice,  and 
find  that  of  the  ten  persons  who  have  died  there  during  the  last 
fifteen  years,  three  deaths  were  from  hereditary  consumption, 
one  from  dropsy,  two  from  paralysis,  one  from  epilepsy,  one 
from  brain-fever,  one  from  drowning,  and  the  last  from  a  fall 
that  broke  the  victim's  neck.  Were  these  attributable  to  any 
local  cause,  the  results  would  certainly  not  have  proved  so 
diverse." 

"  Call  it  superstition,  or  what  you  will,  no  amount  of  coaxing, 
argument,  or  ridicule,  no  imaginable  inducement  could  prevail 
on  me  to  live  there,  —  even  if  the  house  were  floored  with  gold 
and  roofed  with  silver.  It  is  the  gloomiest-looking  place  tliia 
side  of  Golgotha,  and  I  would  as  soon  crawl  into  a  cofiin  for  an 
afternoon  nap  as  spend  a  night  there." 

"  Your  imagination  invests  it  with  a  degree  of  gloom  which 
is  adventitious,  and  referable  solely  to  painful  associations  ;  for 
intrinsically  the  situation  is  picturesque  and  beautiful,  and  the 
grounds  have  been  arranged  with  consummate  taste.  This 
morning  I  noticed  a  quantity  of  rare  and  very  superb  liliea 
d  ustered  in  a  corner  of  the  parterre." 

"  Pray,  \\  hat  called  you  there  ?  " 

'•'  A  workman  engaged  in  repairing  some  portion  of  the  roof^ 
slipped  on  the  slate  and  broke  his  arm  ;  consequently,  they  sent 


me. 


"  Just  what  he  might  have  expected.  I  tell  you  something 
happens  to  everybody  who  ever  sleeps  there." 

"  Do  you  suppose  there  is  a  squad  of  malicious  sprites  hover 
ing  in  ambush  to  swoop  upon  all  new-comers,  and  not  cnlj 
fracture  limbs,  but  scatter  to  right  and  left  paralysis,  epilepsy, 
ftad  other  diseases?  From  your  rueful  countenance  a  strange* 


04  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

might  infer  that  Pandora's  box  had  just  been  opened  O! 
f  Bochim,'  and  that  the  very  air  was  thick  with  miasma  and 
maledictions." 

"  Oh,  luugli  on  if  you  choose  at  my  old-fashioned  *iunis  and 
Muperstition;  but,  mark  my  words,  that  place  will  prove  a  titrw 
to  whoever  buys  it  and  settles  there!  Has  Mrs.  (Jerome  » 
family?" 

"I  believe  I  heard  that  she  had  no  children,  but  I  real)' 
know  little  about  her  except  that  she  must  be  a  woman  of 
unusually  refined  and  cultivated  tastes,  as  the  pictures,  books, 
and  various  articles  of  vertu  that  have  preceded  her  seem  to 
indicate  much  critical  aud  artistic  acumen.  The  entire  building 
has  beeu  refitted  in  exceedingly  handsome  style,  and  the 
upholsterer  who  was  arranging  the  furniture  told  me  it  had 
been  purchased  in  Europe.'* 

"  When  is  Mrs  Gerouie  expected  ?  " 

"  During  the  present  week." 

"  "What  aged  person  is  she  ?  " 

"Indeed,  my  dear,  curious  Janet,  I.  have  asked  no  questions 
and  formed  no  conjectures;  but  I  trust  your  baleful  prognosti 
cations  will  find  no  fulfilment  in.  her  case." 

"  Ulpian,  1  had  some  very  fashionable  visitors  to-day,  who 
manifested  an  extraordinary  interest  in  your  past,  present,  and 
future.  Mrs.  Channing  and  her  two  lovely  daughters  spent  the 
morning  here,  and  left  an  invitation  for  you  to  attend  a  party 
at  their  house  next  Thursday  evening.  Miss  Adelaide  wen. 
into  ecstasies  over  that  portrait  in  which  you  wore  your  uni 
form,  and  asked  numberless  questions  about  you ;  among  others, 
whether  you  were  still  heart-whole,  or  whether  you  had  suffered 
some  great  disappointment  early  in  life  which  kept  you  a  bache 
lor.  What  do  you  suppose  she  said  when  I  told  her  that  VGJ> 
Lad  never  had  a  love-scrape  in  your  life  ?  " 

"Of  course  she  impugned  the  statement,  which,  to  u  youi£ 
lady  famed  for  flirtations,  must  indeed  have  apj>eared  in 
credible." 

"  On  the  contrary,  she  declared  that  the  woman  who  succeeded 
hs  captivating  you  would  achieve  a  triuraph  more  diiucult  and 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  6ft 

more  desirable  than  the  victory  of  the  Nile  or  of  Trafalgar.  I 
w&s  tempted  to  ask  her  if  she  might  be  considered  the  ambitumi 
KTelson,  but  of  course  politeness  forbade.  Ulpian,  she  is  the> 
prettiest  creature  I  ever  looked  at." 

"  Yes,  as  pretty  as  mere  healthy  flesh  can  be  without  th« 
inblimation  and  radiance  of  an  indwelling  soul.  There  is 
nothing  which  impresses  me  so  mournfully  as  the  sight  of  0 
beautiful,  frivolous,  unscrupulous  woman,  who  immolates  all 
uiiat  is  truly  feminine  in  her  character  upon  the  shrine  of 
swollen  vanity ;  and  whose  career  from  cradle  to  grave  is  as 
utterly  aimless  and  useless  as  that  of  some  gaudy,  flaunting 
ephenieron  of  the  tropics.  Such  women  act  as  extinguishers 
upon  the  feeble,  flickering  flame  of  chivalry,  which  modern 
degeneracy  in  manners  and  morals  has  almost  smothered." 

His  tone  and  countenance  evinced  more  contempt  than  Salome 
had  known  him  to  express,  on  any  former  occasion,  and,  glancing 
at  his  clear,  stead}-,  grave  blue  eyes,  she  said  to  herself,  — 

"  At  least  lie  will  never  strike  his  colors  to  Admiral  Adelaide 
Charming,  and  I  should  dislike  to  occupy  her  place  in  his 
estimation." 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  must  not  speak  in  such  ungrateful  terms 
of  my  beautiful  visitor,  who  certainly  has  some  serious  design 
on  your  heart,  if  I  may  judge  from  the  very  extravagant  praise 
she  lavished  upon  you.  I  daresay  she  is  a  very  nice,  sweet  girl, 
and  you  know  you  told  me  once  that  if  you  should  ever  marry 
your  wife  must  be  a  beauty,  else  you  could  not  love  her." 

"  Very  true,  Janet,  and  I  l>a,ve  no  intention  of  retracting  01 
diminishing  rnv  rigid  requirements,  but  my  definition  of  beauty 
includes  iiLore  thar.  mere  physical  perfection,  —  than  satin  skin, 
poarl-tiir.ed,  fine  eyes,  faultless  teeth,  abundant  silky  tresses,  an<? 
rounded  figure.  It  demands  that  the  heart  whose  blood  piinti, 
lips  and  cheek,  shall  be  pure,  generous,  and  holy ;  that  the  sou) 
whidi  looks  out  at  me  from  lustrous  eyes  shall  bo  consecrated 
to  another  deity  than  Fashion,  —  shall  be  as  full  of  magnanimity, 
and  strength,  and  peace,  as  a  harp  is  of  melody;  my  beauty 
means  meekness,  faith,  sanctity,  and  exacts  mental,  moral,  and 
material  excellence.  Rest  assured,  my  dear,  sag.!  counsellor. 


66  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

that  if  ever  I  bring  a  wife  to  my  hearth  stone  I  will  nave  selected 
her  in  obedience  to  the  advice  of  Joubert,  who  admonished  ua, 
*  We  should  choose  for  a  wife  only  the  woman  we  would  choose 
for  a  friend,  were  she  a  man.' " 

"  You  expect  too  much ;  you  will  never  find  your  perfect 
ideal  walking  in  flesh." 

"  I  will  content  myself  with  nothing  less  —  I  promise  you  that." 

"  Oh,  no  doubt  you  will  believe  that  the  woman  you  niairy 
IB  all  that  you  dream  or  wish ;  but  some  fine  morning  you  will 
present  me  with  a  sister  as  full  of  foibles  and  vanities  and 
frailties  as  any  other  spoiled  and  cunning  daughter  of  Eve.  Of 
course  every  bridegroom  classes  as  'perfect'  the  blushing, 
trembling  young  thing  who  peeps  shyly  at  him  from  under  a 
tulle  veil  and  an  orange  wreath ;  but,  take  my  word  for  it,  there 
is  a  spice  of  Delilah  in  every  pretty  girl,  and  the  credulity  of 
Samson  slumbers  in  all  lovers.  Nevertheless,  Ulpian,  I  woidd 
sooner  see  you  in  bondage  to  a  pair  of  white  hands  and  hazel 
eyes,  —  would  rather  know  that  like  all  your  race  you  were 
utterly  humbugged  —  hoodwinked  —  by  some  fair-browed  belle, 
whose  low  voice  rippled  over  pouting  pink  lips,  than  have  you 
live  always  alone,  a  confirmed  old  bachelor.  After  all,  I  doubt 
whether  you  have  really  never  had  a  sweetheai-t,  for  every 
schoolboy  swears  allegiance  to  some  yellow-haired  divinity  in 
ruffled  muslin  aprons." 

Dr.  Grey  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  shrivelled  fingers  that 
were  busily  engaged  in  shelling  some  seed-beans,  and  answered, 
jocosely,  — 

"  Have  I  not  often  told  you,  that  my  dear,  old,  patient  sister 
Janet,  is  my  only  lady-love  ?  " 

"  And  your  silly  old  Janet  is  not  such  an  arrant  fool  as  to 
believe  any  such  nonsense, — especially  when  she  remembers  thai 
from  time  immemorial  sailors  have  had  sweethearts  in  every 
port,  and  that  her  spoiled  pet  of  a  brother  is  no  exception  t« 
his  race  or  his  profession." 

He  laughed,  and  smoothed  her  grizzled  hair. 

"  Since  my  sapient  sister  is  so  curious,  I  will  confess  that 
once —  and  only  once  in  my  life  —  I  was  in  dire  danger  of  falling 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  67 

most  desperately  in  love.  The  frigate  was  ccaling  at  Palermo, 
and  I  went  ashore.  One  afternoon,  in  sauntering  through  the 
orange  and  lemon  groves  which  render  its  environs  so  inviting, 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  countenance  so  serene,  BO  indescribably 
lovely,  that  for  an  instant  I  was  disposed  to  believe  I  had 
encountered  the  beatific  spirit  of  St.  liosalie  herself.  The  face 
•/•as  that  of  a  woman  apparently  about  eighteen  years  old,  who 
evidently  ranked  among  Sicilian  aristocrats,  and  whose  elegan* 
attire  enhanced  her  beauty.  I  followed,  at  a  respectful  distance, 
until  she  entered  the  garden  of  an  adjacent  convent  and  fell  on 
her  knees  before  a  marble  altar,  where  burned  a  lamp  at  the 
feet  of  a  statue  of  the  Virgin;  and  no  painting  in  Europe 
stamped  itself  so  indelibly  on  my  memory  as  the  picture  oi 
that  beautiful  votary.  Pier  delicate  hands  were;  crossed  over 
her  heart,  —  her  large,  liquid,  black  eyes,  raised  in  adoration, — 
her  full,  crimson  lips  parted  as  she  repeated  the  (^lvs  Jjfaria'1  in 
the  most  musical  voice  I  ever  heard.  Just  above  the  purplish 
folds  of  her  abundant  hair  drooped  pomegranate  boughs  all 
ailame  with  scarlet  blooms  that  fell  upon  her  head  like  tongue? 
of  fire,  as  the  wind  sprang  from  the  blue  hollows  of  the  Modi 
terranean  and  shook  the  grove.  The  sun  was  going  swiftly 
down  behind  the  stone  turrets  of  a  monastery  that  crowned  u 
distant  hill,  and  the  last  rays  wove  an  aureola  around  my  kneel 
ing  saint,  who,  doubtless,  aware  of  the  eifect  of  her  graceful 
attitudinizing,  seemed  in  no  haste  to  conclude  her  devotions. 
A.S  I  recall  the  charming  tableau,  those  lines  wherein  Buchanas 
sought  to  photograph  the  picturesqueness  of  the  Digentia,,  iioa! 
tip  from  some  sympathetic  cell  of  memoiy,  — 

'  Gould  you  look  at  the  leaves  of  yonder  tree,  — 
The  wind  is  stirring  thorn,  as  the  sun  is  stirring  ESS  \ 

The  woolly  clouds  move  quiet  and  slow 
In  the  pale  blue  caliu  of  the  tranquil  sides, 

And  their  shades  that  run  on  the  guws  below 
Leave  purple  dreams  in  the  violet's  ejesl 

The  vine  droops  over  my  head  with  bright 
Clusters  of  purple  and  green,  —  the  rose 
Breaks  her  heart  on  the  air ;   and  the  orango  glows 
Like  golden  lamps  in  an  emerald  night.' 


68  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DC  PART. 

My  Sicilian  Siren  finally  disappeared  in  a  gloomy  arclie<3-«rar 
leading  into  the  convent,  and  I  returned  to  the  hotel  to  dream 
of  her  until  the  morning  sunshine  once  more  bathed  Conea 
D'Oro  in  splendor,  —  when  I  instituted  a  search  for  the  name  and 
residence  of  my  inamorata.  Six  hours  of  enthusiastic  investi 
gation  yielded  me  the  coveted  information,  but  imagine  Aie  pro 
foxmd  despair  in  wliich  I  was  plunged  when  I  ascertain icd  frorr. 
her  own  smiling  lips  that  she  was  a  happy  wife  and  the  proud 
mother  of  two  beautiful  children.  As  she  rose  to  present  her 
swarthy  husband,  I  bowed  myself  out  and  took  refuge  aboard 
ship.  Here  ends  the  recital  of  the  first  and  last  bit  of  romanco 
that  ever  threw  its  rosy  tinge  over  the  quiet  life  of  your  staid 
and  humble  brother  —  Ulpian  Grey,  M.D." 

"Ah,  my  dear  sailor  boy,  I  am  afraid  thirty-five  years  of 
experience  have  rendered  you  too  wary  to  be  caught  by  buch 
chaff  as  pretty  girls  sprinkle  along  your  path !  I  should  be  glad 
to  see  your  bride  enter  this  door  before  I  am  carried  out  fee', 
foremost  to  my  final  rest  by  Enoch's  side." 

"  Do  not  despair  of  me,  dear  Jane,  for  I  am  not  exactly 
Methuselah's  rival;  and  comfort  yourself  by  recollecting  that 
Lessing  was  forty  years  old  when  he  first  loved  the  only  woman 
for  whom  he  ever  entertained  an  affection  —  his  devoted  Eva 
Eonig." 

Dr.  Grey  bent  over  his  sister's  easy-chair,  and,  taking  her 
thin,  sallow  face  tenderly  in  his  soft  pahns,  kissed  the  sunken 
cheeks  —  the  wrinkled  forehead;  and  then,  laying  her  head  gently 
back  upon  its  cushions,  entered  his  buggy  and  drove  to  hia 
office. 

"  Salome,  what  makes  you  look  so  moody  ?  There  are  as 
many  furrows  on  your  brow  as  lines  in  a  spider's  web,  and  youi 
lips  are  drawn  in  as  if  you  had  dined  on  green  persimmon* 
Child,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Miss  Jane  lifted  her  spectacles  from  her  nose,  and  eyed  the 
orphan,  anxiously. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  that  '  Solitude '  will  be  filled  once 
tooie  with  people,  and  bustle,  and  din.  It  is  the  nearest  point 
where  we  can  reach  the  beacn,  and  I  have  enjoyed  many  quiet 


UNTt*,  DEATH  US  DO  PART  69 

etrolla  under  its  grand,  old,  sokuin  trees.  If  haunted  a;  all,  il 
is  bv  Dryads  and  Hamadryads,  and  I  like  the  bubble  of  their 
leavea  infinitely  better  than  the  strife  of  human  tongues,  iiiya 
Jane,  if  [  were  only  a  pagan. !  " 

*'  I  am  not  very  sure  that  you  are  not,"  sighed  the  invalid. 

"Nor  L.  I  have  lost  my  place, — I  am  behind  my  time  in  this 
aorld  by  :vt  least  twenty  centuries,  and  ought  to  have  lived  in 
the  jovial  age  of  fauns  and  satyrs,  when  gro-  ..s  were  sacred  for 
other  reasons  than  the  high  price  of  wood,  —  when  gods  and  god- 
ileuses  were  abundant  as  blackberries,  and  at  the  beck  and  call  of 
every  miserable  wretch  who  chose  to  propitiate  them  by  offering 
H  flask  of  wine,  a  bunch  of  turnips,  a  litter  of  puppies,  or  a.  bas 
ket  of  olives.  Hesiod  and  Homer  understood  human  nature 
Infinitely  better  than  Paul  and  Luther." 

"  Salome,  you  are  growing  shockingly  irreverent  and  wicked." 

"No,  mudani,  —  begging  your  pardon.  I  am  only  despe 
rately  honest  in  wishing  that  my  salvation  and  future  felicity 
L-oidd  be  secured  beyond  all  peradventnre,  by  a  sacrifice  of  oat- 
cukes,  or  white  doves,  or  black  cats,  instead  of  a  drab-colored 
life  of  prayer,  penance,  purity,  and  patience.  I  don't  deny 
that  1  would  rather  spend  my  days  in  watching  the  gorgeous 
pageant  of  the  favtatftGrtaea,  or  chanting  dithyrambics  to  insure 
a  fine  vintage,  or  even  offering  a  Taiglieinn,  than  in  running 
neck  and  neck  with  Lucifer  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  I  love 
kids,  and  fawns,  and  lambs,  as  well  as  Landseer;  but  I  should 
not  long  hesitate,  had  I  the  choice,  between  flaying  their  tender 
flesh  in  sacrifice  and  mortifying  my  own  as  a  devout  life 
requires." 

"  But  what  would  have  become  of  your  poor  soul  if  you  had 
iirei  ir  Pagan  times?  " 

"  WLat  will  become  of  it  under  present  circumstances,  I 
t  ko'uld  be  exceedingly  glad  to  know.  '  The  heathen,  are  a  lav» 
auto  themselves,'  and  1  sometimes  wish  T  had  been  born  a 
Fejee  belle,  who  lived,  was  tastefully  tattooed,  and  died  without 
having  even  dreamed  of  missionaries,  —  those  ciii  dous  martyrs 
who  hope  to  wear  a  whole  constellation  on  theii  foreheads  a# 
a  reward  for  having  been  eateu  by  caiur  jals,  to  whom  they 


70  UNTIL  DEATH  Ttf  DO  PART. 

expounded  the  unpalatable  doctrine  that,  Hhiu  is  the  condemn* 
tion,  that  light  is  come  into  the  world,  and  uon  loved  darkneaa 
rather  than  light.'  Moreover,  I  confess  — 

"  That  is  quite  sufficient.  I  have  already  heard  more  than  J 
relish  of  such  silly  and  sacrilegious  chat.  At  least,  you  mighi 
have  more  prudence  and  discretion  than  to  hold  forth  so  die 
gracefully  in  the  hearing  of  your  little  brother." 

Miss  Jane's  cheek  flushed,  and  her  feeble  voice  falteied. 

"  He  has  fallen  fast  asleep  over  the  bean-pods ;  and,  even  L 
he  had  not,  how  much  of  the  conversation  do  you  imagine  he 
would  comprehend?  His  sole  knowledge  of  Grecian  theogony 
consists  of  a  brief  acquaintance  \\ith  a  bottle  of  pseudo  Greek 
fire  which  burnt  the  pocket  out  of  his  best  pantaloons." 

"  Salome,  you  distress  me ;  and,  if  Ulpian  had  not  left  us,  yon 
would  have  kept  all  such  heathenish  stuff  shut  up  in  your  sinful 
and  wayward  heart." 

"  Dr.  Grey  is  no  Gorgon,  having  power  to  petrify  my  tongue. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  him;  and  my  respect  for  your  feelings  ia 
much  stronger  than  my  dread  of  his." 

"  Hush,  child  !  You  are  afraid  of  him,  and  well  you  may  be. 
I  fear  that  all  your  Sabbath-school  advantages  —  all  your  Chris 
tian  privileges  —  have  been  wofully  wasted;  and  i  shall  ask 
Ulpian  to  talk  to  you." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Miss  Jane.  You  may  save  yourself  the  trou 
ble,  for  he  has  given  mo  over  to  hardness  of  heart  and  'a  repro 
bate  mind,'  and  his  patience  is  not  only  'clean  gone  forever,' 
but  he  has  carefully  washed  his  hands  of  all  future  interest  in 
my  rudderless  and  drifting  soul.  Let  me  speak  this  once,  and 
henceforth  I  promise  to  hold  my  peace.  I  do  not  require  to  bo 
'  talked  to '  by  anybody,  —  I  only  need  to  be  let  alone.  Sabbath- 
schools  are  indisputably  excellent  things,  —  and  I  «an  testify  that 
they  are  ponderous  ecclesiastical  hammers,  pounding  creeds  and 
catechisms  into  the  mould  of  memory;  but  these  nurseries  of 
the  church  nourish  and  harbor  some  Satan's  imps  among  their 
Half-fledged  saints ;  and  while  they  certainly  accojnpli?,h  a  vast 
amount  of  good,  they  are  by  no  means  infallible  machines  for 
the  manufacture  of  Christians,  —  of  which  fact  I  btand  in  DC  elan- 


UNTIL  DEATH  ~9  DO  PAST.  71 

eholy  attestation.  I  have  a  vague  impression  that  piety  iloen 
not  grow  up  in  a  night,  like  Jonah's  gourd  or  Jack  the  Giant- 
killer's  bean-stalk;  but  is  a  pure,  glittering,  spiritual  stalactite, 
built  by  the  slaw  accretion  of  dripping  tears.  Do  you  suppose 
that  you  can  successfully  train  my  soul  as  you  have  managed! 
jny  body?  —  that  you  can  hold  my  nose  and  pour  a  dose  of  faith 
down  my  throat,  like  ipecac  or  cod-liver  oil?  In  matters  of 
theology  I  am  110  ostrich,  and,  if  you  afllict  me  ad  nauseam  with 
religious  dogmas,  you  must  not  wonder  that  my  moral  digestion 
rebels  outright.  I  shall  not  dispute  the  fact  that  in  justice  to 
your  precepts  and  example  I  ought  to  be  a  Christian ;  but,  since 
I  am  not,  I  may  as  well  toll  you  at  once  and  save  future  trou 
ble,  that  I  can  neither  be  baited  into  the  church  like  a  hawk 
into  a  nteel-trap,  nor  scared  and  driven  into  it  like  bees  into  a 
hive  by  the  rattling  of  tin  pans  and  the  screaking  of  horns. 
Don't  look  at  me  so  dolefully,  dear  Mis:-;  Jane,  as  if  you  had 
already  seen  my  passport  to  perdition  signed  and  sealed.  You, 
ttt  least,  have  done  your  whole  duty, — have  set  all  the  articles  of 
orthodoxy,  well-flavored  and  garnished,  before  me;  and,  if  I  am 
finally  lost,  my  spiritual  starvation  oan  never  be  charged  against 
you  in  the  last  balance-sheet.  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  Bible,  nor 
altogether  unacquainted  with  the  divers  creeds  in  at  spring  from 
its  pages  as  thick,  as  formidable,  as  ferocious,  as  the  harvest  from 
the  dragon's  teeth  ;  and,  thanking  you  for  all  you  have  taught 
me,  1  here  undertake  to  pilot  .my  own  soul  in  this  boiling,  bel 
lowing  sea  of  life.  1  doubt  whether  some  of  the  charts  you 
value  will  be  of  any  service  in  my  voyage,  or  whether  the  bea 
cons  by  wliich  you  steer  will  save  me  from  the  reefs;  but,  never 
theless,  I  take  the  wheel,  and,  if  1  wreck  my  soul,  —  "why,  then, 
f.  wreck  it." 

In  the  magic  evening  light,  wliich  touches  all  things  with  a 
sx>Fiy,  transitory  glamour,  the  fresh  young  face  with  its  daintily 
sculptured  lineaments  seemed  marvellously  and  surpassingly 
fair ;  but,  bike  ynovbidezz  a  marble,  hopelessly  fixed  and  chill,  ana 
might  have  served  for  some  image  of  Eve,  when,  standing  on  the 
boundary  of  eternal  beatitude,  she  daringly  put  'ap  her  slender 
womanly  fingers  to  pluck  the  fatal  fruit.  Her  large,  brilliani 


72  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

eyes  followed  the  sinking  sun  as  steadily — as  unb  inkingly  -  -  ai 
an  eagle's ;  but  the  gleam  that  rayed  out  was  baleful,  presaging 
stoiins,  as  infallibly  as  that  sullen,  lurid  light,  which  glares 
defiantly  over  helpless  earth  when  to-day's  sun  falls  into  th« 
nloudy  lap  of  to-morrow's  tempest. 

A.  heavy  sigh  struggled  across  Miss  Jane's  unsteady  lips,  as, 
t>  imc  ting  her  glasses,  she  wiped  her  eyes,  and  said,  slowly, — 

"  irrs;  I  ain  a  stupid,  unsuspecting  old  dolt;  but  I  see  it  «11 
•ow." 

"  My  ultimate  and  irremediable  ruin  ?  " 

«  God  forbid  !  " 

Salome  approached  the  arrn-chair,  and,  stooping,  looked  in 
tently  at  the  aged,  wan  face. 

"What  is  it  that  you  see?  Miss  Jane,  when  people  stand, 
&**  you  do,  upon  the  borders  of  two  worlds,  the  Bygone  fades,  — 
the  Beyond  grows  distinct  and  luminous.  Lend  me  your  second 
sijrht,  to  decipher  the  characters  scrawled  like  fiery  serpents  over 
the  pall  that  envelops  the^future." 

**  I  see  nothing  but  the  grim,  unmistakeable  fact  that  my 
little,  clinging,  dependent  child,  has,  without  my  knowledge,  put 
away  childish  things,  and  suddenly  steps  before  me  a  wilful, 
irreverent,  graceless  woman,  as  eager  to  challenge  the  decrees  of 
the  Lord  as  was  complaining  Job  before  the  breath  of  the  whirl 
wind  smote  and  awed  him.  Some  day,  Salome,  that  same  voice 
that  startled  the  old  man  of  Uz  will  make  you  bend  and  trem 
ble  and  shiver  like  that  acacia  yonder,  which  the  wind  is  toying 
with  before  it  snaps  asunder.  When  that  time  comes  the  clover 
will  feed  bees  above  my  gray  head,  but  I  trust  my  soul  will  be  near 
enough  to  the  great  white  throne  to  pray  God  to  have  mercy  on 
your  wretched  spirit,  and  bring  you  safely  to  that  blessed  haven 
whither  you  can  never  pilot  yourself." 

Nervous  excitement  gave  unwonted  strength  to  the  feeble 
limbs;  and,  grasping  her  crutches,  Miss  Jane  limped  into  her 
own  room  and  closed  the  door  after  her. 

For  some  moments  the  girl  stood  looking  out  over  the  lawn, 
where  fading  sunshine  and  deepening  shadow  made  fitful  chuzro- 
%cwro  along  the  primrose- paved  aisles  that  stretched  tinder  th« 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  73 

slm  arches,  —  then,  raising  her  fingers  as  if  tracuig  lines  oa  the 
soft,  gold-dusted  atmosphere  that  surrounded  her,  she  muttered 
dogged/y,  — 

"  Yes ;  I  am  at  sea !  But,  if  God  is  just,  Miss  Jane  and  I 
will  yet  shake  hands  on  that  calm,  surgclcss,  crystal  sea,  shining 
before  the  throne.  h-i>,  now  I  take  the  helm  and  put  the  head 
••I  my  precious  ch;'.r.  •••  isefore  the  wind,  and  only  the  Almighty 
7iiD  foresee  the  ivMilt.  Tn  His  mercy  I  put  my  trust.  So 
b«  it. 

'  Gray  distance  hid  each  shining  sail, 

liy  ruthless  breezes  borne  from  me  ; 
4nd  lessening-,  fading,  faint,  tuid  pale, 
fily  whips  went  forth  to  sea.'  " 


CHAPTER  vi. 

OTHER,  I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Gerome  does  not  like  this 
place,  or  the  furniture,  or  something,  for  she  has  not 
spoken  a  kind  word  about  the  house  since  she  came. 
She  lookc  closely  at  everything,  but  says  nothing.  What  do  you 
suppose  she  thinks  ?  " 

Robert  Maclean,  the  gardener  at  "  Solitude,"  paused  abruptly, 
as  his  mother  pinched  his  arm  sharply  and  whispered,  — 

"  Whist !  There  -she  comes  down  the  azalea  walk  ;  and  no  one 
likes  to  stumble  upon  their  own  name  when  they  are  not  ex 
pecting  the  sound  or  sight  of  it.  No ;  she  has  turned  off  towards 
*.he  cedars,  and  does  not  see  us.  As  to  her  likes  and  dislikes, 
'Jtcrc  is  nothing  this  side  of  heaven  that  will  content  her  ;  and 
;ov4  might  have  known  better  than  to  suppose  she  would  be  much 
pleased  witL  anything.  No  matter  what  she  thinks,  she  seldom 
eomplains,  and  it  is  hard  to  find  out  her  views;  but  she  told  mo 
to  tell  you  that  she  approved  all  you  had  done,  and  thanked  you 
foi  the  pains  you  have  taken  to  arrange  things  comfortably." 
7 


74  UNTIL  DEATB  US  DC  PAST. 

Old  Elsie  tied  the  stiings  of  her  white  muslin  cap,  and  turned 
aer  back  to  the  wind  that  was  playing  havoc  with  its  freshly 
fluted  frills. 

f '  Mother,  1  heard  her  laugh  yesterday,  for  the  first  time,  ft 
wus  a  short,  quick,  queer  little  laugh,  but  it  pleased  me  greatly. 
The  cook  had  set  some  duck-eggs  under  that  fine  black  Spanish 
hen ;  and,  when  they  hatched,  she  marched  oflf  with  the  brood 
Lute  the  fowl-yard,  where  they  made  straight  for  the  duck-pool 
and  sailed  in.  The  lien  set  up  such  a  din  and  clatter  that  Mr*. 
Gerome,  who  happened  to  get  a  glimpse  of  them,  felt  sorry  for 
tho  poor  frightened  fowl,  and  tried  to  drive  the  Little  ones  out 
of  the  water ;  but,  whenever  she  put  her  hand  towards  them 
to  catch  the  nearest,  the  whole  brood  would  quack  and  dive,  — 
and,  when  she  had  laughed  that  one  short  laugh,  she  called  to 
one  to  look  after  them  and  went  back  to  the  house.  You  don't 
know  how  strangely  that  laugh  sounded." 

"Don't  I?  Speak  for  yourself,  Robert.  I  have  heard  her 
(augh  twice,  but  it  was  when  sue  was  asleep,  and  it  was  an  un 
canny,  bitter  sound,  —  about  as  welcome  to  my  ears  as  her  death- 
rattle.  Last  night  she  did  not  close  her  eyes,  —  did  not  even 
undre&s;  and  the  hall  clock  was  striking  three  tliis  morning 
when  I  hoard  her  open  the  piano  and  play  one  of  those  dismal, 
frantic,  wailing  things  she  calls  '  fugues,'  that  make  the  hair  rise 
an  my  head  and  every  inch  of  my  llesh  creep  as  if  a  stranger 
were  treading  on  my  grave.  When  she  was  a  baby,  cutting  her 
eye-teeth,  she  had  a  spasm ;  aud,  seeing  her  straighten  herself 
out  and  roll  back  her  eyes  till  only  the  white  balls  showed,  I 
took  it  for  granted  she  was  about  to  die,  and,  holding  her  in  my 
*rm,s,  I  fel1  on  my  knees  and  prayed  that  she  might  be  spared 
Well,  now,  Robert,  I  am  sorry  I  put  up  that  petition,  for  the 
Lord  knew  best ;  and  it  would  have  been  a  crowning  mercy  if 
be  had  paid  110  attention  to  my  half-crazy  pleadings  and  taken 
her  home  then.  What  meddling  foi^s  we  all  are !  I  thought, 
at  that  time,  it  would  break  my  heart  to  sliroud  her  sweet  little 
body;  but  ah !  I  would  rather  have  laid  ii_y  precious  baby  in  hex 
cofnn,  with  violets  under  her  fingers,  than  live  to  see  tha~  despe 
rate,  unearthly  look,  come  and  house  itself  in  her  great,  solemn, 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  I)fl  PAST.  7* 

htm-gry,  tormenting  eyes,  tliafc  were  once  us  full  of  sparkles  and 
merriment  as  the  sky  is  of  stars  on  u  clear,  frosty  night.  My 
son,  we  isever  know  what  is  good  for  us;  for,  many  times,  when 
v?0  clamor  for  bread  we,  break  our  teetli  on  it;  and  then,  again, 
when  we  rage  and  howl  because  we  think  the  Lord  lias  da~i>? 
out  scorj  ions  to  us,  they  prove  l>otter  than  the  fish  we  (;rav«i 
So,  after  all,  I  conclude  Christ  understood  the  whole  matin 
Vrien.  he  enjoined  upon  us  to  say,  'Thy  will  bo  done.'  " 

The  old  nurse  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  black 
silk  apron,  and,  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  crossed  her 
AT;  an  comfortably  over  her  broad,  and  ample  chest,  while  Robert 
buried  himself  in  repotting  some  choice  carnations. 

"  But,  mother,  do  you  really  think  she  will  be  satisfied  to  stay 
riere,  after  travelling  so  long  up  and  down  in  the  world?" 

"How  can  I  i.ell  what  she  will  or  will  not  do?  Yon  know 
«~ery  well  that  she  goes  to  sleep  with  one  set  of  whims  and 
/rakes  up  with  new  ones.  She  catches  odd  freaks  as  some  peo 
ple  catch  diseases.  She  said  yesterday  that  she  had  had  enough 
>f  travel  and  change,  nad  intended  to  settle  and  live  and  die 
light  here ;  but  that,  docs  not  prove  that  I  may  not  receive  an 
jrder  next  week  to  pack  her  trunks  and  start  to  Jericho  or 
Oalifax,  and  1  should  not  think  the  world  was  upside  down  and 
Doming  to  an  end  if  such  an  order  came  before  breakfast  to-mor 
row.  Poor  lamb  1  My  poor  lamb  !  Yonder  she  comes  again. 
Do  you  notice  how  fast  she  walks,  as  if  the  foul  fiend  were 
clutching  ut  her  skirts  or  she  were  trying  to  get  away  from 
lerself,  —  trying  to  nui  her  restless  soul  entirely  out  of  her 
vrotched  body  ?  Come  away,  Robert,  and  let  her  have  all  the 
grounds  to  herself.  She  likss  best  to  be  alone." 

Mother  and  eon  walked  off  in  the  direction  of  the  stablee, 
ftR.<l  the  advaj&cing  figure  emerged  from  the  dense  shade  where 
interlacing  limbs  roofed  one  of  the  winding  wa\ks,  arid  paused 
•jeforo  the  circular  stand  on  which  lemon,  rose,  white,  crimson, 
tnd  variegated  camatioiis,  nodded  their  fringed  heads  and  pourea 
ep'  ,y  aromas  from  their  velvety  chalices. 

The  face  and  form  of  jlrs.  Gerome  presented  a  puzzling- 
paradox,  in  which  old  age  and  youth  seemed  struggling  for 


/6  UNTIL  DEATH    73  DO  PART. 

mattery ;  and  "  death  in  life  "  found  melancholy  verification.  Tall, 
slender,  and  faultlessly  made,  the  perfection  of  her  figure  wa» 
mnrr3d  by  the  unfortunate  carriage  of  her  head,  which  drooped 
forward  so  heavily  that  the  chin  almost  touched  her  ti/roat  and 
KCdilj  destroyed  the  harmony  of  the  profile  outline.  The  Lead 
Jidelf  was  nobly  rounded,  and  sternly  classic  as  any  well 
vatk  ?ati;,ated  antique,  but  it  was  no  marvel  that  it  habitually 
bowed  under  the  heavy  glittering  mass  of  silver  hair,  which 
jvound  in  coil  after  coil  and  was  secured  at  the  back  by  a  comb 
of  carved  jet,  thickly  studded  with  small  silver  stars.  The 
extraordinary  lustrousness  of  these  waves  of  gray  hair  that 
rippled  on  her  forehead  and  temples  like  molten  metal,  lent  a 
veird  and  wondrous  effect  to  the  straight,  regular,  rigid  features, 
—  daintily  cut  as  those  of  Pallas,  and  quite  as  pallid.  The 
uelicato  and  high  arch  of  the  eyebrows  was  black  as  ebony,  and 
iu  coujunctiou  with  the  long  jetty  lashes  formed  a  very  singular 
eonti-ast  to  the  shining  white  tresses,  which  lay  piled  like  freshly 
Aillen  snow-drift  above  them.  The  brow  was  full,  round, 
smooth,  and  fair  as  a  child's ;  and  more  than  one  azure  thread 
showed  the  subtle  tracery  of  veins,  whose  crimson  currents  left 
no  rosy  reflex  on  the  firm,  gleaming  white  flesh,  through  which 
they  branched. 

Beneath  that  faultless  forehead  burned  unusually  large  eyes, 
deep  as  mountain  tarns,  and  of  that  pure  bluish  gray  that 
tolerates  no  hint  of  green  or  yellow  rays.  The  dilated  pupils 
intensified  the  steel  color,  and  faint  violet  lines  ran  out  from  the 
iris  to  meet  the  central  shadows,  while  above  and  below  >ba 
heavy  black  fringes  enhanced  their  sombre  depths,  whera 
mournful  mysteries  seemed  to  float  Like  corpses  just  beneath 
the  crystal  shroud  of  ocean  waves.  The  pale,  passionless  lips, 
--perfect  in  their  pure  curves,  but  defrauded  of  the  blood  which 
i:.ii/ly  refused  to  cc  me  to  the  surface  and  tint  the  fine  satin 
— were  Lined  in  ciphers  that  the  curious  questioned  aud 
wondered  over,  but  which  few  could  read  and  none  fully  com 
prehend.  The  beautiful,  frigid  mouth,  where  all  sweetness  waa 
trozen  out  to  make  room  for  hopelessness  and  defianco,  would 
Uave  adniirablv  suited  some  statue  of  discrown<xl  and  sinifctea 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  10  PART.  77 

Hecuba ;  and  no  amount  of  sighs  and  sobs,  no  stormy  bursts  of 
grief  or  fierce  invective,  could  rival  the  melanonoly  eloquence 
of  its  mute,  calm  pallor. 

The  van  face,  with  its  gray  globe-like  eyes,  and  the  metaU.it 
glitter  of  the  prematurely  silvered  hair,  matched  in  huo  tin- 
pearl-colored  muslin  dress  which  fluttered  in  the  wind  j  fcnfj, 
standing  there,  this  gray  woman  of  twenty-three  looked  iiide?-& 
like  Pygmalion's  stone  darling,  — 

"  Fair-statured,  noble,  like  an  awful  thing 
Frozen  upon  the  very  verge  of  life, 
And  looking  back  along  eternity 
With  rayless  eyea  that  keep  the  shadow  Time." 

Her  frail,  wliite  hands,  with  their  oval  nails  polished  and 
opalescent,  were  exceedingly  beautiful ;  and,  where  the  creamy 
foam  of  fine  lace  fell  back  from  the  dimpled  wrists,  quaintly 
carved  jet  serpents  with  blazing  diamond  eyes  coiled  around  the 
throbbing  threadlike  pulses  of  sullen  sang  azure. 

Bending  over  the  carnations,  she  examined  the  gorgeous 
hues,  —  toyed  with  their  fragile  stems,  —  and  then,  glancing  shyly 
over  her  shoulder  like  a  startled  fawn  half  expectant  of  hounds 
and  hunter,  she  glided  rapidly  to  an  artificial  mound  crowned 
with  a  mouldering  mossy  plaster  image  of  Ariadne  and  her 
pard,  and  stood  surveying  her  new  domain. 

"  Solitude  "  filled  a  semicircular  hollow  between  low  wooded 
hills,  which  ran  down  to  lave  their  grassy  flanks  in  the  blue 
brine  of  the  Atlantic,  and  constituted  the  horns  of  a  crescent 
bay,  on  whose  sloping  sandy  beach  the  billows  broke  without 
barrier. 

The  old-fashioned  brick  house  —  with  sharp,  peaked  roof 
turreted  chimneys,  and  gable  window  looking  down  in  fJr.wj,» 
upon  the  clumsily  clustered  columns  that  supported  the  ai  shetf 
portico  —  was  built  upon  a  rocky  knoll,  of  which  nature  laid 
the  foundation  and  art  increased  the  height ;  and,  around  an'j 
above  it,  towered  a  dense  grove  of  ancient  trees  that  shut  out  the 
glare  of  the  sea  and  effectually  screened  the  mansion  fronu 
observation.  The  damp  walLi  were  heavily  draped  with  the 


78  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DJ  PART. 

gombro  verdure  of  ivy,  whose  ambitious  tendrils  ciainber^i  tc 
the  cleft  chimney-tops,  and  peeped  impertinently  over  the 
broad  stone  window-sills,  whence  the  indignant  housemaid 
remorselessly  sheared  them  away  as  often  as  their  encroach 
sssnts  gr&w  perceptible, 

In  the  rear  of  the  house,  ard  toward  the  -wesr^  strejuched 
srchard,  vegetable  garden,  vineyuni,  and  v.ijsat-field,  -whose 
rolling  gresn  waves  seemed  almost  to  break  against  the  ruddy 
trunks  of  cedars  that  clothed  the  hillside.  To  the  left  and 
north  lay  low,  marshy,  meadow  land,  covered  with  rank  grasa 
and  frosted  with  saline  incrustations ;  while  south  of  the  build 
ing  extended  spacious  grounds,  studded  here  and  there  with 
noble  groups  of  deodars,  Norway  spruce,  and  various  orna 
mental  shrubs,  and  bounded  by  a  tall  impenetrable  hedge  of 
osage  orange.  Before  the  house,  which  faced  the  ocean  and 
fronted  east,  the  lawn  sloped  gently  down  to  a  terrace  sur 
mounted  by  a  granite  balustrade;  and  just  beyond,  supported 
by  stone  piers  on  the  golden  sands,  stood  an  octagonal  boat- 
house,  built  in  the  Swiss  style,  with  red-tiled  roof,  and  floored 
with  squares  of  white  and  black  marble,  whence  a  flight  of  steps 
led  to  the  little  boat  chained  to  one  of  the  rocky  piers.  Along 
the  entire  length  of  the  terrace  a  line  of  giant  poplars  lifted 
their  aged,  weather-beaten  heads,  high  above  all  surrounding 
objects, — ever  on  the  qui  vive,  looking  seaward,  —  trim  and  erect 
as  soldiers  on.  dress  parade,  and  defiant  of  gales  that  had  shorn 
them  of  many  boughs,  and  left  ghastly  scars  on  their  glossj 
limbs. 

Tradition  whispered,  with  bated  breath,  that  in  the  Jim 
dawn  of  colonial  settlement  a  nide  log  hut  had  been  erected 
here  by  pirates,  who  came  ashore  to  bury  their  ill-gotten  booty, 
sjid  rumors  were  rife  of  bloody  deeds  and  midnight  orgies,  —  ail 
sf  which  sprang  into  more  vigorous  circulation,  when,  in  laying 
tho  foundations  of  the  boat-house  piers,  an  iron  pot  containing  a 
number  of  old  French  and  Spanish  coins  was  dug  out  of  tha 
shells  ana  sand. 

Melancholy  tales  of  stranded  vessels  and  drowned  crews,  of 
a  slaver  burnec  to  the  water's  edge  to  escape  capture,  and  of 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PARF.  79 

charred  corpses  strewn  on  the  beach,  thickened  the  atmosphere 
of  legendary  gloom  that  enveloped  the  spot,  —  where  the 
successive  demise  of  several  proprietors  certainly  sanctioned  the 
feeling  of  dread  and  superstitions  distrust  with  which  it  wa» 
regarded.  That  the  unenviable  celebrity  it  had  attained  vaa> 
referable  to  local  causes  generating  disease,  ap]  eared  almos* 
Incredible ;  for,  if  miasmatic  exhalations  rose  dan};  and  poison- 
Das  from  the  densely  shaded  humid  house,  they  were  promptly 
dispelled  by  the  strong,  invincible  ocean-breeze,  which  tore  aside 
leafy  branches  and  muslin  curtains,  and  wafted  all  noxious' 
vapors  inland. 

A.  committee  of  medical  sages  having  cautiously  examined 
the  place,  unanimously  averred  that  its  reputed  fatality  could 
not  justly  bo  ascribed  to  any  topographical  causes.  Whereupon 
the  popular  nerve,  which  closely  connected  the  community  with 
supernaturaldom,  thrilled  afresh ;  and  all  the  calamities,  real 
and  imaginary,  that  had  afflicted  "  Solitude  "  from  a  period  so 
remote  that  "the  memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary,'" 
were  laid  upon  the  galled  shoulders  of  some  red-liveried, 
sulphur-scented  Imp  of  Abaddon,  whose  peculiar  mission  was 
to  haunt  the  "piratical  nest;"  and,  in  lieu  of  human  victims, 
to  addlo  the  eggs,  blast  the  grapo  crop,  and  make  night  hideous 
with  spectral  sights  and  sounds. 

To  an  unprejxidiced  observer  the  hills  seemed  to  have 
gleefully  clasped  hands  and  formed  a  half-circle,  shutting  the 
place  in  for  a  quiet  breezy  communion  with  garrulous  ocean, 
whose  waves  ran  eagerly  up  the  strand  to  gossip  of  wrecks  and 
cyclones,  with  the  staid  martinet  poplars  that  nodded  and  mur- 
saured  assent  to  all  their  wild  romances. 

Such  was  the  pleasant  impression  produced  upon  the  mind  of 
ilie  lonely  woman  who  now  owned  it,  and  who  noped  tc  spend 
Sbsre  in  seclusion  and  peace  the  residue  of  a  life  whose  radiant 
dawn  had  been  suddenly  swa ''lowed  by  drab  clouds  and  starless 
gloom. 

The  Scotch  are  proverbially  credulous  concerning  all  pre 
ternatural  influences;  and,  had  Robert  Maclean  been  cognizant 
of  half  the  ghostly  associations  attached  to  the  residence  wliicb 


80  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

he  had  selected  in  compliance  wifh  general  instructions  from  hii 
mistress,  it  is  scarcely  problematical  whether  the  house  would 
Hot  have  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  real-estate  broker ;  butj 
fortunately  for  their  peace  of  mind,  Elsie  and  her  son  were  as 
yet  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  dismal  celebrity  of  their  new 
home. 

Resting  her  folded  hands  on  the  bare  shoulders  of  tJh^ 
Ariadne,  which  modest  lichens  and  officious  wreaths  of  purple 
verbena  were  striving  to  mantle,  Mrs.  Gerome  scanned  the 
scene  before  her ;  and  a  quick,  nervous  sigh,  that  was  almost  a 
pant,  struggled  across  her  lips. 

"Unto  this  last  nook  of  refuge  have  1  come;  and,  expecting 
little,  find  much.  Shut  out  from  the  world,  locked  in  with  the 
sea,  —  no  neighbors,  no  visitors,  no  news,  no  gossip,  —  solitary, 
eliady,  cool,  and  quiet,  —  surely  I  can  rest  here.  Forked  tongues 
of  scandal  can  not  penetrate  through  those  rock-ribbed  hills 
yonder,  nor  dart  across  that  defying  sea;  and  neither  wail  nor 
wassail  of  men  or  women  can  disturb  me  more.  But  how  do  I 
know  that  it  will  not  prove  ?i  mocking  cheat  like  T>m*!r>  and 
Maggiore,  or  Copais  and  Cromarty '{  I  have  fled  in  disgust  and 
ennui  from  far  lovelier  spots  than  this,  and  what  right  have  I  to 
suppose  that  contentment  has  housed  itself  as  my  guest  in  that 
old,  mossy,  brick  pile,  where  mice  and  wrens  run  riot?  Like 
Cain  and  Cartophilus,  my  curse  travels  with  me,  and  I  no 
sooner  pitch  my  tent,  than  lo !  the  rattle  and  grin  of  my  skeleton, 
for  which  earth  is  not  wide  enough  to  furnish  a  grave  !  "Well ! 
well !  at  least  I  shall  not  be  stared  to  death  here,  —  shall  not  be 
tormented  by  eye-glasses  and  sketch-books ;  can  live  in  that  dim, 
dark,  greenish  den  yonder,  unobserved  and  possibly  forgotten, 
and  finally  sleep  undisturbed  in  the  dank  shade  of  those  deodars, 
with  twittering  birds  overhead  and  a  sobbing  t>ea  at  my  feet. 
How  long  —  how  long  before  that  dreamless  slumber  will  fall' 
upon  mv  heavy  lids,  —  weary  with  waiting  ?  Only  twenty-three 
yesterday !  My  God,  if  I  should  li'Te  to  be  an  old  woman  I 
The  very  thought  threatens  insanity  !  Ten  —  twenty  —  pr  ssibly 
thirty  years  ahead  of  me.  No ;  I  could  not  endure  it,  —  1  slovJd 
go  mad,  or  destroy  myself!  If  I  were  a  delicate  woman,,,  if  I 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  81 

only  had  weak  lungs  or  a  dropsical  heart,  or  a  taint  >f  any 
kcfcdiiary  infirmity  that  would  surely  curtail  my  days,  I  could 
bo  tolerably  patient,  Loping  daily  for  the  symptoms  to  develop 
themselves.  But,  unfortunately,  though,  my  family  all  died 
t-urly,  no  two  members  selected  the  same  mode  of  escape  from 
diis  basiile  of  ".lay;  and  my  flesh  is  sound,  and  I  am  as  strong 
ind  oo m pact  as  that  granite  balustrade,  and  —  ha  !  ha  !  —  quit* 
A3  hard.  Au  pis  aller,  if  the  burden  of  life  becomes  utterly 
intolerable  I  can  slmfile  it  off  as  quickly  as  did  that  proud 
'.Roman,  who,  'when  the  birds  began  to  sing'  in  the  dawn  of  a 
day  heraided  by  tempestuous  winds  laden  with  perfume  from 
the  vales  of  Sicily,  shut  his  eyes  forever  from  the  warm  spark 
ling  Mediterranean  billows  that  broke  in  the  roads  of  Utica,  and 
pricked  the  memory  of  inattentive  Azrael  with  the  point  of  a 
sword.  Neither  Phaedo,  family,  nor  fame,  could  coax  Cato  to 
respect  the  prerogative  of  Atropos ;  and  if  he,  *  the  only  free 
and  unconquered  man,'  quailed  and  fled  before  the  apparition  of 
numerous  advancing  years,  what  marvel  that  I,  who  am  neither 
sage  nor  Roman,  should  be  tempted  some  fine  morning  when  the 
birds  are  sounding  reveille  around  iny  chamber  windows,  to 
imitate  '  what  Cato  did,  and  Addison  approved '  ?  After  all, 
what  despicable  cowards  are  human  hearts,  and  how  much  easier 
to  die  like  Socrates,  Seneca,  and  Zeno,  than  stagger  and  groan 
under  the  load  of  hated,  torturing  years,  that  are  about  as  wel 
come  to  my  shoulders  as  the  '  old  man  of  the  sea '  to  Sinbad's  ! 
How  long  ?  —  oh,  how  long  ?  " 

The  gloomy  gray  eyes  had  kindled  into  a  dull  flicker  that 
resembled  the  fitful,  ghastly  gleam,  of  sheet  lightning,  falling 
through  painted  windows  upon  crumbling  and  defiled  altars  ic 
some  lonely  ruined  cathedral ;  and  her  low,  shuddering  tones, 
were  full  of  a  hopeless,  sneering  bitterness,  as  painfully  startling 
and  out  of  place  in  a  woman's  voice  as  would  be  the  scream  of  a 
condor  from  the  irised  throats  of  brooding  doves,  or  the  lntngn 
howl  of  a  wolf  from  the  tender  lips  of  un weaned  lambs.  In  the 
gloaming  light  of  a  soft  gray  sky  powdered  l:y  a  few  early  stars, 
stood  this  desolate  gray  woman,  about  whose  face  and  dress? 
there  was  no  stain  of  oolcr  save  the  blue  glitter  of  a  1-org* 


82  UNTIL  DEATH  VIS  DO  PART. 

sapphire  ring,  curiously  cut  in  the  form  of  a  coiled  a.«»;»,  with 
hooded  head  erect  and  brilliant  diamond  eyes  that  twinkled 
with  every  quiver  of  the  marble-white  fingers. 

Impatiently  she  turned  her  imperia.  head,  when  t;_e  sound  of 
approaching  steps  broke  the  stillness ;  and  her  tone  was  sharp  as 
that  of  one  suddenly  roused  from  deep  sleep,  — 
"Well,  Elsie!     What  is  it?" 
"Tea,  my  child,  has  been  waiting  half-an-hour." 
**  Then  go  and  get  your  share  of  it.     I  want  none." 
"  Bat  you  ate  no  dinner  to-day.     Does  your  head  ache  ?  " 
"  Oh,  no;  my  heart  jealously  monopolizes  that  privilege !  " 
The  old  woman  sighed  audibly,  and  Mrs.  Gerome  added, — 
"  Pray,  do  not  worry  yourself  about  me  !    When  I  feel  disposed 
to  come  in  I  can  find  the  way  to  the  door.     Go  and  get  ycm 
supper." 

The  mirse  passed  her  wrinkled  hand  over  the  drab  muslin 
sleeves  and  skirt,  and  touched  the  folds  of  hair. 

"  But,  my  bairn,  the  dew  is  thick  on  your  head  and  has  taken 
all  the  starch  out  of  your  dress.  Please  come  out  of  tMs  fog 
that  is  creeping  up  like  a  serpent  from  the  sea.  You  are  not 
used  to  such  damp  air,  and  it  might  give  you  rheumatic  cramps." 
"  Well,  suppose  it  should  ?  Does  not  my  white  head  entitle 
ine  to  all  such  luxuries  of  old  age  and  decrepitude?  Don't 
bother  me,  Elsie." 

She  put  out  her  hand  with  a  repellent  gesture,  but  Elsie 
seized  it,  and,  clasping  both  her  palms  over  the  cold  fingers,  said, 
with  irresistible  tenderness,  — 

"  Come,  dearie  !  —  come,  my  dearie  !  " 

Without  a  word  Mrs.  Gerome  turned  and  followed  her  across 
the  lawn  and  into  the  house,  whose  internal  arrangement  waa 
somewhat  at  variance  with  its  unpretending  exterior. 

The  rooms  were  large,  with  low  ceilings;  and  fire-places, 
oiiginally  wide  and  deep,  had  been  recently  filled  and  fitted  up 
with  handsome  grates,  while  the  heavy  mantel-pieces  of  carved 
cedar,  that  once  matched  the  broad  facings  of  the  windows  and 
the  massive  panels  of  the  doors,  were  exchanged  for  ccstly  verd 
antique  and  lumachella.  3  he  narrow  passage  running  through 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  S3 

tho  centre  of  the  building  was  also  wainscoted  with  jecLir  and 
adorned  with  fine  engravings  of  Landseer's  best  pictures,  wno.se 
richly  carved  walnut  iYames  looked  almost  ccdarn  in  the  raJo 
chill  light  tli at  streamed  upon  thorn  T,hro-igh  the  violet-colored 
glass  which  surrounded  the  front  door  and  eiie<;tii;i!] y  subdued 
the  hot  goldt-L  glare  of  the  s;v,nny  sun.  The  old-fashioned  folding 
doors  that  formerly  connected  the  parlor  and  library  had  been 
removed  to  make  room  for  a  low,  wide  arc!),  over  which  droopo 
'ace  curtains,  partially  looped  with  blue  silk  cord  and  tassela, 
and  both  apartments  were  furnished  with  softs  and  chairs  of 
rosewood  and  blue  satin  damask,  while  the  velvet  carpet,  with  ita 
azure  ground  strewn  with  wreaths  of  white  roses  and  hyacinths, 
corresponded  in  color.  Handsome  book-cases,  burdened  with 
precious  lore,  lined  the  walls  of  the  rear  room;  and  on  either 
side  of  a  massive  ormolu  escritoire,  bronze  candelabra  shed  light 
on  the  blue  velvet  desk  where  lay  delicate,  sheets  of  gossamer 
paper  with  varied  and  outre  monograms,  guarded  by  an  exqui 
site  marble  statuette  of  Harpocrates,  which  stood  in  the  mirror- 
panelled  recess  reserved  for  pen,  ink,  and  sealing-wax.  The  air 
was  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  flowers  that  nodded  to  each  other 
from  costly  vases  scattered  tlirough  both  apartments ;  and,  before 
one  of  the  windows,  rose  a  bronze  stand  containing  china  jara 
filled  with  pelargoniums,  in  brilliant  bloom.  An  Erard  piano 
occupied  one  corner  of  the  parlor,  and  the  large  harp-shaped 
stand  at  its  side  was  neaped  with  books  and  unbound  sheets  of 
rnuab.  Here  two  loiig  wax  caudles  were  now  burning  brightly, 
nncl,  on  the  oval  marble  table  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  was  a 
superb  silver  lamp  representing  Psyche  bending  over  Cupid,  and 
supporting  the  linely-cut  globe,  whose  soft  radiance  streamed 
down  on  her  burnished  wings  and  eagerly-parted  sweet  Greek 
lips.  The  design  of  this  exceedingly  beautiful  lamp  would  not 
have  disgraced  Beiivenuto  Cellini,  nor  its  execution  have  ro- 
uectecl  discredit  upon  the  genius  of  Felicie  Fauveau,  though  to 
neither  of  these  distinguished  artificers  could  its  origin  have  been 
justly  ascribed.  In  its  mellow,  magical  glow,  the  fine  paintings 
suspended  on  the  walla  seemed  to  catch  a  gleam  of  "  that  light 
that  never  was  on  sea  or  land,"  for  their  dim,  purplish  A  I 


84  VNTIL   DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

gorges  were  filled  with  snowy  phantasmagoria  of  vushing  ava 
lanches;  their  foaming  cataracts  braided  glittering  cpray  into 
spectral  similitude  of  Undine  tresses  and  Undine  faces ;  th^u 
desolate  red  deserts  grew  vaguely  populous  with  mirage  mock 
eries;  their  green  dells  and  grassy  hill-sides,  couching  ..arelces 
herds,  and  lle«cy  flocks,  borrowed  all  Arcadia's  repose ;  and  th* 
marble  busts  of  Beethoven  and  of  Handel,  placed  on  oracketr 
above  the  piano,  shone  as  if  rapt,  transfigured  in  the  mighty 
inspiration  that  gave  to  mankind  "Fidel to'"  and  the  "Messiah?' 

On  the  sofa  which  partially  filled  the  oriel  window,  where  the 
lace  drapery  was  looped  back  to  admit  the  breeze,  lay  an  ivory 
box  containing  materials  and  models  for  wax-flowers;  and,  in 
one  comer,  half  thrust  under  the  edge  of  the  silken  cushion,  was 
an  unfinished  wreath  of  waxen  convolvulus  and  a  cluster  of 
gentians.  There,  too,  open  at  the  page  that  narrated  the  death- 
struggle,  lay  Liszt's  "  Life  of  Chopin,"  pressed  face  downwards, 
with  two  purple  pansies  crushed  and  staining  the  leaves;  and  a 
Kmall  gold  thimble  peeping  out  of  a  crevice  in  the  damask  tattled 
of  the  careless  feminine  fingers  that  had  left  these  traces  of 
disorder. 

The  collection  of  pictures  was  unlike  those  usually  brought 
from  Europe  by  cultivated  tourists,  for  it  contained  no  Madon- 
aas,  no  Magdalenes,  no  Holy  Families,  no  Descents  or  Entomb 
ments,  no  Saints,  or  Sibyls,  or  martyrs;  and  consisted  of  wile 
mid-mountain  scenery,  of  solemn  surf-swept  strands,  of  lonel) 
moonlit  moors,  of  crimson  sunsets  in  Gobi  or  Sahara,  and  of  a 
few  gloomy,  ferocious  faces,  among  which  the  portrait  of  Salva- 
tor  Rosa  smiled  sardonically,  and  a  head  of  frenzied  Jocasta  wag 
preeminently  hideous. 

As  Mrs.  Gerome  entered  the  parlor  and  brightened  the  flamo 
of  the  Psyche  lamp,  her  eyes  accidentally  fell  upon  the  bust 
of  Beethoven,  where,  ic  gilt  letters,  she  had  inscribed  his  own 
triumphant  declaration,  "JMusic  is  like  wine,  inflaming  m«n  to 
n#tj  achievements  y  and  I  am  the  Bacchus  wlio  serves  it  out  ts 
them."  While  she  watched  the  rayless  marble  orbs,  metre  elo 
quent  than  dilating  darkening  human  pupils,  a  shadow  den.% 
and  mysterious  drifted  over  her  frigid  face,  and,  without  removing 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAHT. 

her  eyes  from  the  bust  above  her,  sue  sat  down  before  i± 

and  commenced  one  of  those  marvellous  symphonies  -which  he 

bad  commended  to  the  study  of  Goethe. 

Ere  it  was  ended  Elsie  came  in,  bearing  a  waiter  on  which 
stood  a  silver  epvrgne  filled  with  fruit,  a  basket  of  cake,  and  « 
goblet  of  iced  tea. 

"  My  child,  I  bring  your  supper  here  because  the  dining-room 
looks  lonesome  at  night." 

"No,  —  no  !    take  it  away.      1  tell  you   I  want  nothing." 

"But,  for  my  sake,  dear  — 

u  Let  me  alone,  Elsie  !      There,  —  there  !      Don't  tea/e  me.'' 

The  nurse  stood  for  :-xnne  moments  watching  the  deepening 
gloom  of  the  Tip-turned  countenance,  listening  to  the  wierd  strain:.; 
that  seemed  to  drip  from  the  white;  lingers  as  they  wandered 
slowly  across  the  keys;  then,  kneeling  at  her  side,  grasped  th« 
hand-s  thinly,  and  covered  them  with  kisses. 

"  Precious  bairn  !  don't  play  any  more  to-night.  For  God's 
sake,  let  me  shut  up  this  piano  that  is  »>j-akiug  a  ghost  of  you  ! 
You  will  get  so  stirred  up  you  can't  close  your  eyes,  —  yon  know 
you  wiii ;  and  then  1  shall  cry  till  day-break.  If  you  don't  care 
for  yourself,  dearie,  do  try  to  care  a  little  for  the  old  \vonuiu 
who  loves  you  I  Hitter  than  her  life,  and  who  never  can  sleep 
till  she  knows  your  precious  head  is  on  its  pillow.  My  pretty 
darling,  you  are  killing  me  by  inches,  and  I  shall  stay  here  ou 
my  knees  until  you  leave  the  piano,  if  that  is  not  till  noon  to 
morrow.  You  may  order  me  away;  but  not  a  .step  will  I  stir, 
trod  help  you,  my  bairu  !  " 

Mrs  Geromo  made  an  eii'ort  to  extricate  her  hands,  but,  the 
iron  grasp  was  relentless ;  and,  hi  a  tone  of  great  annoyance,  she 
exclaimed , — 

"  Oli,  Elsie  !      You  are  an  intolerable  — 

u  Well,  dear,  say  it  out,  —  an  ir  tolerable  old  fool  !  i^r.'t  fch&t 
*hat,  you  mean?  " 

"Not  exactly;  but  you  presunn-  upon  my  forbearance.  Eki™, 
v  ,)U  must  not  interrupt  and  aiuioy  me,  for  !  tell  you  now  "  wiU 
li'jt  submit  to  it.  You  forget  that  I  am  not  a  I'hild/' 

"  Darling,  you  will  never  be  anything  but  a  child  to  ino,  -  -  fc}.« 
8 


86  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

same  pretty  child  I  took  from  its  dead  mother's  arms  and  carrifxl 
for  years  close  to  my  heart.  So  scold  me  as  you  niay,  my  pet, 
I  shall  love  you  and  try  to  take  care  of  you  just  as  long  as  there 
is  breath  left  ii*  my  body." 

She  ended  by  kissing  the  struggling  hands ;  and,  thriving  if 
conceal  her  vexation,  Mrs.  Gerome  finally  turned  and  said, — 

"  If  you  will  eat  your  supper,  and  stay  with  Robert,  and  leave 
me  in  peace,  I  promise  yo\i  I  will  close  the  piano,  which  youi 
flinty  Scotch  soul  can  no  more  appreciate  Aan  the  brick  and 
mortar  that  compose  these  walls.  You  mean  well,  my  dear 
faithful  Elsie,  but  sometimes  you  bore  me  fearfully.  I  kno»v  1 
am  often  wayward ;  but  you  must  bear  with  me,  for,  after  all, 
how  could  I  endure  to  lose  you, — you  the  only  human  being 
who  cares  whether  1  live  or  die?  There,  —  go!  Good  night!" 

She  threw  her  arias  around  Elsie's  neck,  leaned  Ler  wan  cheek 
for  an  instant  only  on  her  shoulder,  then  pushed  her  away  and 
hastily  closed  the  piano. 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  devoted  servant  stole  up  on  tiptoe, 
and  peeped  through  the  half-open  door  that  led  into  the  hall,  she 
found  the  queenly  ligure  walking  swiftly  and  lightly  across  the 
room  from  oriel  to  arch,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  the  back 
of  her  head,  and  the  silvery  lamp-light  shining  softly  on  the 
waves  of  burnished  hair  that  rippled  around  her  pure,  polished 
forehead. 

As  she  watched  her  mistress,  Elsie's  stout  frame  trembled, 
and  hot  tears  streamed  down  her  furrowed  face  while  she  lifted 
her  heart  in  prayer,  for  the  dreary,  lonely,  lovely  woman,  who 
had  long  ago  ceased  to  pray  for  herself.  But  when  the  quivering 
Lips  of  one  breathed  a  petition  before  the  throne  of  God,  the 
bwt'itiful  cold  mouth  of  the  other  was  muttering  bitterly, — 

"Yea,  love  is  dead,  and  by  her  funeral  bier 
Ambition  gnaws  the  lips,  aud  sheds  no  tear; 
And,  in  the  outer  chamber  He  pe  sits  wild,  — 
Hope,  with  her  blue  eyes  dun  with  looking  locg." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAJKT.  87 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LP1AN,  why  do   you   look   so  grave  and    grieve..? 
Does  your  letter  contain  bad  news ?  " 

Miss  Jane  pushed  back  her  spectacles  and  glanced 
anxiously  at  her  brother,  wlio  stood  with  his  brows  slightly 
knitted,  twirling  a  crumpled  envelope  between  his  fingers. 

"  It  is  not  a  letter,  but  a  telegraphic  dispatch,  summoning  in« 
to  the  death-bed  of  my  best  friend,  Horace  Manton." 

"The  man  whose  life  you  saved  at  Madeira?" 

"Yes;  and  the  person  to  whom,  above  all  other  men,  I  am 
most  strongly  and  tenderly  attached.  His  constitution  is  so 
feeble  that  1  have  long  been  uneasy  about  him ;  but  the  end  has 
come  even  earlier  than  I  feared." 

"  Vvliere  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  O;i  the  Hudson,  a  few  miles  above  New  York  City.  I  have 
no  tim<-.  to  .spare,  for  1  shall  take  the  train  that  leaves  at  one 
o'clock",  and  must  make  some  arrangement  with  Dr.  Sheldon  to 
attend  my  patients.  Will  it  trouble  or  tire  you  too  much  to 
pack  my  valise  while  I  write  a  couple  of  business  letters?  If 
so,  I  will  call  Salome  to  assist  you." 

"  Trouble  me,  indeed  !  Nonsense,  my  dear  boy ;  of  course  ] 
will  pack  your  valise.  Moreover,  Salome  is  not  at  home.  How 
long  will  you  be  absent'?  " 

"Probably  a  week  or  ten  days, — possibly  longer.  If  poov 
Horace  lingers,  I  shall  remain  with  him." 

"Wait  one  moment,  Ulpian.  Beiore  you  go  I  want  to  sj/eak 
to  you  about  Salome." 

"  Well,  Janet,  I  lend  you  my  ears.  Has  the  girl  absolutely 
turned  pagan  and  set  up  an  altar  to  Ceres,  as  she  threateneu 
some  weeks  since  ?  Take  my  word  for  the  fact  that  she  does  not 
!>elieve  or  mean  one  half  that  she  says,  and  is  only  amusing  her 
self  by  trying  to  discover  how  wide  her  audacious  heresies  can 
expand  your  dear  orthodox  eyes.  Expostulation  <ind  entreaty 


88  CNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PAR±. 

only  feed  her  affected  eccentricities  and  skepticism,  £.nd  if  yov 
will  persistently  and  quietly  ignore  them,  they  will  shrivel  a* 
rapidly  as  a  rank  gourd- vine,  uprooted  on  an  August  day." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  my  dear  boy.  How  you  m^n  do  prate  seine 
times  of  matters  concerning  which  you  are  as  ignorant  as  tlif 
yearling  calves  and  gabbling  geese  that  I  suppose  your  learned 
astronomers  see  driven  every  day  to  pasture  on  that  range  o/ 
mountains  in  the  moon — Eratosthenes  —  that  modern  scicrict 
pretends  to  have  discovered,  and  about  which  you  read  so  mar 
vellous  a  paper  last  week.'' 

Miss  Jane  reverentby  clung  to  the  dishonored  remnants  of  th( 
Ptolemaic  theory,  and  scouted  the  philosophy  of  Copernicus 
which  she  vehemently  averred  was  not  worth  "  a  pinch  of  suufiy 
else  the  water  in  the  well  would  surely  run  out  once  in  every 
twenty-four  hours.  Now,  as  she  dived  into  the  depths  of  he; 
stocking-basket,  collecting  the  socks  neatly  darned  and  rollec 
over  each  other,  her  brother  smiled,  and  answered,  good  humor 
edly,  — 

"  Dear  Janet,  1  really  have  not  time  to  follow  you  to  thf 
uioon,  uor  to  prove  to  you  that  your  astronomical  doctrine: 
have  been  dead  and  decently  buried  for  nearly  three  hundrot 
years ;  but  I  should  like  to  hear  what  you  desire  to  tell  me  witl 
reference  to  Salome.  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 

"  Nothing  ails  her,  except  a  violent  attack  of  industry,  whicl 
has  lasted  much  longer  than  I  thought  possible ;  for,  to  tell  yoi 
the  truth  without  stint  or  varnish,  she  certainly  was  the  nic# 
sluggish  piece  of  flesh  I  ever  undertook  to  manage.  Stud) 
ahe  would  not,  keep  house  she  could  not,  sewing  gave  her  tut 
headache,  and  knitting  made  her  cross-eyed ;  but,  behold !  slu 
has  suddenly  found  out  that  her  pretty  little  pink  palms  wen 
made  for  something  better  than  propping  her  peach-blooii 
jheeks.  A  few  days  ago  I  accidentally  discovered  that  she  wai 
sitting  up  until  long  after  midnight,  and  when  I  questioned  he; 
closely,  she  finally  confessed  that  she  had  entered  into  a  contract 
to  furnish  a  certain  amount  of  embroiuery  every  month.  Bles* 
the  child !  can  you  guess  what  she  intends  to  do  with  the  money} 
Hoard  it  up  in  order  to  rent  a  couple  of  rooms,  where  she  car 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  «U 

:ake  Jessie  ind  Stanley  to  livo  with  her.     TJlpian,  it  is  a  praise* 
worthy  aim,  you  must  admit." 

t;  Eminently  commendable,  and  I  respect  and  admire  tao 
aotive  that  incites  her  to  such  a  laborious  course.  At  present 
she  is  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  take  entire  charge  of  the 
children,  and  I  know  nothing  of  your  plans  or  intentions  con 
cerning  her  future ;  but,  let  me  assure  you,  dear  Jane,  that  I 
will  cordially  cooperate  in  all  your  schemes  for  aiding  her  and 
providing  a  home  for  them,  and  my  purse  shall  not  prove  a  lag 
gard  in  the  race  with  yours.  Recently  I  have  been  revolving  a 
plan  for  their  benefit,  but  am  too  much  hurried  just  now  to  give 
you  the  details.  When  1  return  we  will  discuss  it  iti  extenso" 

"  You  know  that  J.  ascribe  great  importance  to  blood,  but, 
strange  as  it  may  appear,  that  girl  Salome  has  always  tugged 
hard  at  my  heart-strings,  as  if  our  proud  old  blood  beat  in  her 
veins ;  and  sometimes  I  fancy  there  must  be  kinship  hidden  be 
hind  the  years,  or  buried  in  some  unknown  grave." 

"Amuse  yourself  while  I  am.  away  by  digging  about  the  gene 
alogical  tree  of  the  house  of  Grey,  and,  if  you  can  trace  a  fibre 
tiiat  ramifies  in  the  miller's  family,  I  will  gladly  bow  to  my  own 
blood  wherever  I  find  it,  and  claim  consulship.  Meantime,  my 
dear  sister,  do  keep  a  corner  of  your  loving  heart  well  swept  and 
dusted  for  your  errant  sailor-boy." 

He  hastily  kissed  her  cheek  and  turned  away  to  write  letters, 
while  she  went  into  the  adjoining  room  to  pack  his  clothes. 

When  Salome  returned  from  town,  whither  she  had  goue  to 
cuiry  a  package  of  finished  work  and  obtain  a  fresh  supply,  she 
found  Miss  Jane  alone  in  the  dining-room,  and  wearing  a  «ie- 
ivc ted  expression  on  her  usually  cheerful  countenance. 

'f  Did  Uipian  tell  you  good-by  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not  seen  him.     Where  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  To  New  York." 

17  te  long  walk  and  sultry  atmosphere  had  unwoutedly  flvrshed 
(he  girl's  face,  and  the  damp  hair  clung  in  glossy  rings  to  her 
brow;  but,  as  Miss  Jane  spoke,  the  Hood  ebbod  from  cheeks  and 
lips,  and  sweeping  ba~k  the  dark  tresses  that  seemed  to 
her,  she  asked,  shiveringly,  - 
s* 


90  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

" Is  Dr.  Grey  going  back  to  sea? M 

"  Oh  no,  child  !  An  old  friend  is  very  ill,  and  telegraphed  f« 
him.  Sit  down,  dear,  —  you  look  faint." 

"  Thank  you,  I  don't  wish  to  sit  down,  and  there  ie  nothing 
lie  matter  with  me.  When  will  he  come  home  ?  " 

"  I  can  not  tell  precisely,  as  his  stay  is  contingent  upon  t!i.e 
condition  of  hLs  friend." 

"  Is  it  a  man  or  woman  whom  he  has  gone  to  see  ?  " 

The  astonishment  painted  on  Miss  Jane's  face  would  uave 
been  ludicrous  to  a  careless  observer,  less  interested  than  the 
orphan  in  her  slow  and  deliberate  reply. 

"A  man,  of  course." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  He  went  to  see  Mr.  Horace  Manton,  with  whom 
he  was  associated  while  abroad.  But  suppose  it  had  been  some 
winsome,  brown-eyed  witch  of  a  woman,  instead  of  a  dying  man, 
what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  you  would  have  lost  your  brother,  and  I  my  French 
pronouncing  dictionary,  —  that  is  all.  Did  he  leave  any  message 
about  my  grammar  and  exercises  ?  " 

"  No,  dear ;  but  he  started  so  hurriedly  —  so  unexpectedly  — 
he  had  not  time  for  such  trifles.  "Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  To  put  away  my  bonnet  and  bundle,  and  look  after  Stanley, 
who  is  romping  with  the  kittens  on  the  lawn." 

The  old  lady  laid  down  her  knitting,  leaned  her  elbows  on  th« 
arms  of  her  rocking-chair,  and,  clasping  her  hands,  bowed  her 
shin  upon  them,  while  a  half-stifled  sigh  escaped  her. 

"  Mischief,  —  mischief,  where  I  meant  only  kindness !  I  sowed 
good  seed,  and  reap  thistles  and  brambles !  My  charity-cake 
turns  out  miserable  dough !  But  how  could  I  possibly  foresee 
&at  the  child  would  be  such  a  simpleton  ?  What  right  has  she  tc 
b«?  so  unnecessarily  interested  in  my  brother,  who  is  old  enough 
to  have  been  her  father?  It  is  unnatural,  absurd,  and  alto- 
geth?r  unpardonable  in  Salome  to  be  guilty  of  such  presump 
fcuous  nonsense;  and,  of  course,  it  is  not  in  the  least  my  fault,  foi 
the  possibility  of  this  piece  of  miscliief  never  once  occurred  to 
nie '  True,  sho  is  as  old  as  Ulpian's  inothei  was  when  fathe* 


UAITIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  91 

married  her;  but  then  Mrs.  Grey  was  not  at  all  in  love  with.  hes 
white-haired  husband,  and  ha,d  sot  Lev  affections  solely  on  thaf 
Mercer-  Street  house,  with  marble  steps  and  plate-glass  •windows, 
How  do  i  know  that,  after  all,  Salome  is  not  in  love  witl 
Ulpian's  fortune  instead  of  the  dear  boy's  blue  eyes,  and  hand 
some  hair,  and  splendid  teeth  'J.  However,  I  ought  not  to  thii-k 
KG  harshly  of  the  child,  for  I  have  no  cause  to  consider  her  cat 
dilating  and  selfish.  Poor  tiling  !  if  she  really  cares  for  hiiu 
there  are  breakers  ahead  of  her,  for  I  ani  sure  that  he  is  as  feii 
from  falling  in  love  with  her  as  I  would  be  with  the  ghost 
of  my  great-grandfather's  uncle.  Thank  Providence,  all  thia 
troublesome,  mischievous,  Lucifer  machinery  of  love  and  mar 
riage  is  shut  out  of  heaven,  where  we  slmll  be  as  the  angels  are, 
Ah,  Salome  !  I  fear  you  are  a  giddy  young  idiot,  and  that  I  anj 
a  blind  old  imbecile,  and  I  wish  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
you  had  never  darkened  my  doors." 

The  quiet  current  of  Miss  Jane's  secluded  life  had  never  been 
ruffled  by  a  serious  affaire  du  cusurj  consequently  she  indulged 
little  charity  towards  those  episodes,  which  displayed  what  she 
considered  the  most  humiliating  weakness  of  her  sex. 

While  puzzling  over  the  best  method  of  extricating  her^ro- 
tege  from  the  snare  into  which  she  was  disposed  to  apprehend 
that  her  own  well-meant  but  mistaken  kindness  had  betrayed 
her,  she  saw  an  unsealed  note  lying  beneath  the  table,  and,  by  the 
aid  of  her  crutch,  drew  it  within  reach  of  her  lingers.  A  small 
sheet  of  paper,  carelessly  folded  and  addressed  to  Salome,  merely 
contained  these  words,  — 

"I  congratulate  you,  my  young  friend,  on  the  correctness  ^f 
your  French  themes,  which  I  leave  in  the  drawer  of  the  library- 
table.  When  I  return  I  will  examine  those  prepared  during  ui  s 
absence  j  and,  in  the  interim,  remain, 

"  Very  respectfully, 


Miss  Jane  wiped  her  glasses,  and  read  the  note  twice  ;  thea 
leld  it  between  her  thumb  and  third  fmgor,  and  delated  Ui« 


92  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

expediency  of  changing  its  destination.  Her  delicate  sense  of 
honor  revolted  at  the  first  suggestion  of  interference,  but  an  in- 
tense  aversion  to  "  love-scrapes "  finally  strengthened  her  pru 
dential  inclination  to  crush  this  one  in  its  incipieiicy  ;  &nd  ah& 
deliberately  tore  the  paper  iuto  shreds,  which  she  tossed  out  of 
the  window. 

"  If  Ulpian  only  had  his  eyes  open  he  would  never  have  scrib 
bled  one  line  to  her;  and,  since  I  know  what  I  know,  and  aee 
jvhat  I  see,  it  is  iny  duty  to  take  the  responsibility  of  destroying 
all  fuel  within  reach  of  a  name  that  may  prove  as  dangerous  as 
a  torch  in  a  hay-rick." 

Limping  into  the  library,  she  took  from  the  drawer  the  two 
books  containing  French  exercises  and  laid  them  in  a  conspicuous 
place  on  the  table,  where  they  could  not  fail  to  arrest  the  atten 
tion  of  their  owner ;  after  which  she  resumed  her  knitting, 
consoling  herself  with  the  reflection  that  she  had  taken  the 
first  step  towards  smothering  the  spark  that  threatened  the 
destruction  of  all  her  benevolent  schemes. 

Up  and  down,  under  the  spreading  trees  in  the  orchard, 
wandered  Salome,  anxious  to  escape  scrutiny,  and  vaguely  con 
scious  that  she  had  reached  the  cross-roads  in  her  life,  where 
haste  or  inadvertence  might  involve  her  in  inextricable  diffi 
culties. 

She  was  neither  startled,  nor  shocked,  nor  mortified,  that  the 
unceremonious  departure  of  the  master  of  the  house  stabbed  hei 
heart  with  pangs  that  made  her  firm  lips  writhe,  for  she  had 
long  been  cognizant  of  the  growth  of  feelings  whose  liscovery 
had  so  completely  astounded  Miss  Jane. 

The  orphan  had  not  eagerly  watched  and  listened  for  the 
sight  of  his  face  —  the  sound  of  his  voice  —  without  fully  com 
prehending  herself;  for,  however  ingeniously  and  indefatigably 
worn 'in  may  mask  their  hearts  from  public  gaze  and  comment, 
i. hey  do  not  mock  their  own  leason  by  such  flimsy  shams,  and 
Salome  could  find  no  prospect  of  gain  in  playing  a  game  of  brag 
rvith  her  inquisitive  soul. 

]n  the  quiet  orchard,  where  all  things  seemed  drowsy —  where 
t.ue  only  spectators  were  the  mellowing  apples  that  reddened  the 


UNTIL  DEAr*I  U8  DO  PART.  93 

boughs  above  her,  and  her  sole  auditors  the  brown  partridges 
thav  nestled  in  the  tall  grass,  and  the  shy  cicadfe  ambushed  under 
the  clover  leaves  —  her  pent-up  pain  and  disappointment  bubbled 
over  in  a  gush  of  passionate  words. 

"(lone  without  giving  me  a  syllable,  a  word,  a  touch  !  Gone, 
fcr  an  indefinite  period,  without  even  a  cold  'good-by,  Salome! ' 
5rTeu  cail  yourself  a  Christian,  Dr.  Grey,  and  yet  you  are  cruel, 
aow  and  then,  and  make  me  ^vrithe  like  a  worm  on  a  fish-hook ! 
He  tola  Stanley  he  "would  return  in  two  or  three  weeks,  perhaps 
sooner,  — but  \  know  better.  T  have  a  dull  monitor  here  that 
says  it  will  be  a  long,  dreary  time,  before  I  see  him  again.  A 
wall  of  ice  is  rising  to  divide  us  —  but  it  shall  not !  it  shall  not ! 
I  will  Lave  my  own  !  I  will  look  into  his  calm  eyes !  I  will 
souch  Lis  soft,  warm,  white  palms !  I  will  hear  his  steady,  low, 
clear  vuice,  that  makes  music  in  my  ears  and  heaven  in  my  heart ! 
It  is  thjee  months  since  he  shook  hands  with  nie,  but  all  time 
cannot  remove  the  feeling  from  my  ringers ;  and  some  day  I  cau 
cling  to  his  hand  and  lean  my  cheek  against  it,  —  and  who  dare 
dispute  my  right?  He  says  he  never  loved  any  woman!  I 
heard  him  tell  his  sister  he  had  yet  to  meet  the  woman  whom  he 
could  marry,  —  and,  if  truth  ringers  anywhere  in  this  world  of 
sin,  it  rinds  a  sanctuary  in  his  soul !  He  never  loved  any 
woman  t  Thank  God  !  I  can't  afford  to  doubt  it.  No  one  but  his 
sister  has  touched  his  lips,  or  his  noble,  beautiful  forehead.  How  I 
envied  little  Jessie  when  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and  stooped 
and  laid  his  cheek  on  hers.  Oh,  Dr.  Grey,  nobody  else  will  ever 
love  you  as  I  do !  I  know  I  am  unworthy,  but  1  will  make 
myself  good  and  great  to  match  you !  I  know  I  am  beneath  you, 
kilt  I  will  climb  to  your  proud  height,  — and,  so  help  me  God, 
I  will  be  all  that  your  lofty  standard  demands !  He  does  not 
care  for  me  now, — does  not  even  think  of  me;  but  I  must  be 
patient  and  merit  his  notice,  for  my  own  folly  sank  me  in  his 
good  opinion.  When  these  apples  were  pale,  pink  blossoms,  1 
dreaded  his  coming,  and  hoped  the  vessel  would  rx3  wrecked; 
now,  ere  they  are  ripe,  I  am  disposed  to  curse  the  cause  of  hitf 
temporary  absence  and  think  myself  ill-used  that  no  farewell 
privileges  were  granted  me.  Now  I  can  understand  why  people 


94  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART, 

find  coTnfort  in  praying  for  thoso  they  lo  re ;  for  what  else  c&n  J 
do  but  pray  while  ho  is  away?  Oh,  I  shall  not,  cannot,  wiU 
not,  miss  my  way  to  heaven  if  ho  gets  there  before  nie !  " 

la  utter  abandonment  she  threw  herself  down  in  the  long 
Bellow  sedge-grass,  —  frightening  a  whole  covey  of  gossiping 
young  partridges  and  a  couple  of  meek  doves,  all  of  which 
whirred  away  to  an  adjacent  pea-field,  leaving  her  with  her  face 
buried  in  ner  hands,  and  watched  by  trembling  mute  crickets 
and  cicarne. 

On  the  topmost  twig  of  the  tallest  tree  a  mocking-bird  poised 
himself,  and  sympathetically  poured  out  his  vesper  canticle,  —  a 
song  of  condolence  to  the  prostrate  figure  who,  just  then,  would 
have  preferred  the  echo  of  a  man's  deep  voice  to  all  Pergolese's 
strains. 

After  a  little  while  pitying  Venus  swung  her  golden  globe  in 
among  tne  apple-boughs,  peeping  compassionately  at  her  luckless 
votary ;  and,  finally,  in  the  violet  west,  — 

"  Two  silver  beacons  sphered  in  the  ekies, 
Eve  in  her  cradle  opening  her  eyes. " 

Two  weeks  dragged  themsehres  away  without  bringing  any 
tidings  of  the  absent  master ;  but,  towards  the  close  of  the  third, 
a  brief  letter  informed  his  sister  that  the  invalid  friend  was  still 
alive,  though  no  hope  of  his  recovery  was  entertained,  and  that 
it  was  impossible  to  fix  any  period  for  the  writer's  return. 
Salome  asked  no  questions,  but  the  eager,  hungry  expression, 
with  which  she  eyed  the  letter  as  it  lay  on  the  top  of  the 
stocking-basket,  touched  Miss  Jane's  tender  heart ;  and,  knowing 
that  it  contained  no  allusion  to  the  orphan,  she  put  it  into  her 
hand,  and  noticed  the  clsud  of  disappointment  that  gathered 
over  her  features  as  she  perused  and  refolded  it.  Another  week 
—  monotonous,  tedious,  almost  interminable  —  crept  by,  and 
one  morning  as  Salon) e  passed  tho  post-ofiice  she  inquired  for 
ietters,  and  received  one  post-marked  New  York  and  addix****!  tc 
Miss  Jane. 

Hurrying  homeward  with  the  precious  missive,  her  pa.ce 
would  well-nigh  have  distanced  Hermes,  and  the  dusty  winding 


UlfTIL  DEATH-  US  DO  PART.  if 5 

road  seemed  to  mock  her  with  lengthening  curves  wliiie  she 
pressed  on;  but  at  last  she  reached  the  gate,  sped  up  the 
avenue,  and,  pausing  a  moment  at  the  threshold  to  catch  he* 
breath  and  appear  noncluzlant,  she  demurely  entered  Miss  Jane's 
apartment.  The  only  occupant  Avas  a  servant  sewing  n«ar  the 
jyindow,  and  who,  in  reply  to  an  eager  question,  informed  Salome 
hat  the  mistress  had  gone  to  spend  the  day  with  a  friend  •wiiosa 
residence  was  six  miles  distant. 

The  girl  bit  her  lip  until  the  blood  started,  and,  to  conceal  hem 
chagrin,  took  refuge  in  the  parlor,  where  the  quiet  dimness  otfered 
a  covert.  Locking  the  door,  she  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
cushioned  rocking-chairs  and  looked  at  the  letter  lying  between 
her  fingers.  The  gilt  clock  on  the  mantel  uttered  a  dull,  click 
ing  sound,  and  a  little  green  and  gold-colored  bird  hopped  out 
and  "  cuckooed "  ten  times.  Miss  Jane  would  not  probably 
return  before  seven,  possibly  eight  o'clock,  and  what  could  be 
done  to  strangle  those  intervening  nine  hours? 

The  blood,  heated  by  exercise  and  impatience,  throbbed  fiercely 
in  her  temples  and  thumped  heavily  at  her  heart,  producing  a 
half-suffocating  sensation ;  and,  in  her  feverish  anxiety,  the  doom 
of  Damiens  appeared  tolerable  in  comparison  with  the  torturing 
suspense  of  nine  hours  on  the  rack. 

The  envelope  was  an  ordinary  white  one,  merely  sealed  with 
a  solution  of  gum  arabic,  and  dexterous  fingers  could  easily  open 
and  reclose  it  without  fear  of  detection,  especially  by  eyes  so 
dim  and  uncertain  as  those  for  which  it  had  been  addressed. 
A.  damp  cloth  laid  upon  the  letter  would  in  five  minutes  prove 
an  open  sesame  to  its  coveted  contents,  and  a  legion  of  fiends 
patted  the  girl's  tingling  fingers  and  urged  her  to  this  prompt 
and  feasible  relief  from  her  goading  impatience.  Secure  from 
intrusion  and  beyond  the  possibility  of  discovery,  she  turned  tlia 
envelope  up  and  down  and  over,  examining  the  seal ;  and  tae 
amber  gleams  lying  perdu  under  the  shadows  of  her  pupils 
ray  (id  out,  glowing  with  a  baleful  Lucifer  light,  s,s  infallibly  in 
dicative  of  evil  purposes  as  the  sudden  kindling  in  a  crouching 
cat'u  or  cougar's  gaze,  just  as  they  spring  upon  their  prey. 

It  was  a  mighty  temptation,  cunningly  devised  and  opportune  ty 


96  UNTIL   DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

presented,  and  six  n.onths  J-go  her  parley  with  the  imps  of 
Apollyon  who  contrived  it  would  not  have  lasted  five  minutes; 
biit,  iu  some  natures,  love  for  a  human  being  will  work  marvels 
irhich  neither  the  fear  of  God,  nor  the  hope  of  heaven,  nor  y«4 
l.ho  promptings  of  self-respect  have  pow  T  to  accomplish. 

Now  while  Salome  dallied  with  the  unnpter  and  gave  audience 
t )  the  clamors  of  her  rebellious  heart,  she  looked  up  and  met  the 
MU  nest  gaze  of  a  pair  of  sunny  blue  eyes  in  a  picture  that  hung 
dir»ctly  opposite. 

It  \ras  an  admirable  portrait  of  Dr.  Grey,  clad  in  full  uniform 
as  surgeon  iu  the  U.  S.  Navy,  and  painted  when  lie  was  twenty- 
eight  years  old.  Up  at  that  calm,  cloudless  countenance,  the  girl 
looked  breathlessly,  spell-bound  as  if  in  the  presence  of  a 
reproving  angel ;  and,  after  some  seconds  had  elapsed,  she  hurled 
the  unopened  letter  across  the  room,  and  lifted  her  hands 
appealingly,— 

"  No,  —  no  !  I  did  not  —  I  can  not  —  I  will  not  act  so  baselv  ! 
I  must  not  soil  fingers  that  should  be  pure  enough  to  touch 
yours.  T  was  sorely  tempted,  my  beloved ;  but,  thank  God, 
your  blessed  blue  eyes  saved  me.  It  is  hard  to  endure  nine 
hours  of  suspense,  but  harder  still  to  bear  the  thought  that  I 
have  stooped  to  a  deed  that  would  sink  me  one  iota  in  your 
good  opinion.  I  will  root  out  the  ignoble  tendencies  of  my 
nature,  and  keep  my  heart  and  lips  and  hands  stainless,  —  hold 
them  high  above  the  dishonorable  things  that  you  abhor,  and 
live  during  your  absence  as  if  your  clear  eyes  took  cognisance  of 
every  detail.  Yea,  —  search  me  as  you  will,  dear  deep-blue  eyes, 
—  I  shall  not  shrink ;  for  the  rule  of  my  future  years  shall  be 
to  scorn  every  word,  thought,  and  deed  that  I  would  not  freely 
hare  to  the  scrutiny  of  the  man  whose  respect  I  would  sooner 
die  than  forfeit.  Oh,  my  darling,  it  were  easier  for  me  to  front 
the  fiercest  flames  of  Tophet  than  face  your  scorn !  I  can  wait 
till  Miss  Jane  sees  fit  to  show  me  the  letter,  and,  if  it  bring  good 
news  of  your  speedy,  coming,  I  shall  have  my  reward ;  if  not, 
why  should.  I  hasten  to  meet  a  bitter  disappointment  which  maj 
be  lagging  out  of  mercy  to  me?" 

Picking  up  th3  letter  as  suspiciously  as  if  it  had  been  dropped 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  9? 

fcy  the  Prin  je  of  Darkness  on  the  crest  of  Quarantina,  she 
stepped  upon  a  table  and  inserted  the  corner  of  the  envelope  in 
the  crevice  between  the  canvas  and  the  portrait-frame,  repeat 
ing  the  while  a  favorite  passage  that  she  kad  first  heard  frora 
I*r.  Grey's  lips,  — 

"  'God  meant  me  good  too,  when  he  hindered  me 
From  Baying  "  yes  "  this  morning.     I  say  no,  —  no ! 
I  tie  up  "  no  "  upon  His  altar-horns, 
Quite  out  of  reach  of  perjury ! ' " 

Young  though  she  was,  experience  had  taught  her  that  the 
most  effectual  method  of  locking  the  wheels  of  time  consisted  is 
sitting  idl}r  down  to  watch  and  count  their  revolutions ;  conse 
quently,  sue  hastened  up-stairs  and  betook  herself  vigorously  to 
the  work  of  embroidering  a  parterre  of  flowers  on  the  front- 
breadth  of  an  infant's  christening-dress  which  her  employer  had 
promised  should  be  completed  before  the  following  Sabbath. 

Stab  the,  laggard  seconds  as  she  might  with  her  busy  needle, 
the  day  was  drearily  long ;  and  few  genuine  cuckoo-carols  have 
been,  listened  to  with  such  grateful  rejoicing  a,f?  greeted  those 
metallic  gutturals  that  once  in  every  sixty  minutes  issued  from 
the  throat  of  the  gaudy  automaton  caged  in  the  gilt  clock. 

True,  nine  hours  are  intrinsically  nine  hours  under  all  cir 
cumstances,  whether  decapitation  or  coronation  awaits  their 
expiration;  but  to  the  doomed  victim  or  the  heir-apparent  thev 
appear  relatively  shorter  or  longer.  At  last  Salome  saw  that 
the  shadows  on  the  grass  were  lengthening.  Her  head  ached, 
her  eyes  burned  from  steady  application  to  her  trying  work,  and 
laying  aside  the  cambric,  she  leaned  against  the  window-facing 
ar>d  looked  out  over  tho  lawn,  where  Time  seemed  to  have  fallen 
asleep  in  the  mild  a.ntumn  sunshine. 

How  sweet  and  welcome  was  the  distanco-m  ifiled  sound  of 
tinkling  cow-bells,  and  the  low  bleating  of  homeward-si  rolling 
flocks,  wending  their  way  across  the  hills  through  whi;:h  th*-1 
road  crawled  like  a  dusty  gray  serpent. 

A  noisy  club  of  black-birds  that  had  been  holding  yn  i.ndigoi> 
tion  meeting  in  the  top  of  a  walnut  tree  near  the  gal.e,  j.uljonruwi 

a 


98  UNTIL  DEATH   JS  DO  PART. 

to  the  sycamore  grove  that  overshadowed  the  bam  in  tue  real 
of  the  house;  and  Stanley's  pigeons,  which  had  been  cooing  and 
strutting  in  the  avenue,  went  to  roost  in  the  pretty  painted 
pagoda  Dr.  Grey  had  erected  for  their  comfort.  Finally,  inf 
low-swung,  heavy  carriage,  with  its  stout  dappled  horses,  glad 
•Jeued  Salome's  strained  eyes;  and,  soon  after,  she  heard  ths 
'thump  of  Miss  Jane's  crutches  and  her  cheerful  voice,  asking,— 

"  Where  are  the  children  ?  Tell  them  I  h»ve  come  hom« 
Bless  me,  the  house  is  as  dark  as  a  dungeon !  Rachel,  have  we 
neither  lamps  nor  candles  ?  " 

The  orphan  stole  down  the  steps,  climbed  upon  the  table  in 
the  parlor,  and,  seizing  the  letter,  hurried  into  the  dining-room, 
where,  quite  exhausted  by  the  fatigue  of  the  day,  the  old  lady 
lay  on  the  sofa. 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  drew  the  girl's  face  within  reach  of 
her  lips,  saying, — 

"  My  child,  I  am  afraid  you  have  had  rather  a  lonely  day." 

"  Decidedly  the  loneliest  and  longest  I  ever  spent,  and  I  bo 
tieve  I  never  was  half  so  glad  to  see  you  come  home  as  just  now 
when  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  door." 

Ah,  what  hypocrisy  is  sometimes  innocently  masked  by  the 
earnest  utterance  of  the  truth  !  And  what  marvels  of  industry 
are  accomplished  by  self-love,  which  seeks  more  assiduously  than 
bees  for  the  honied  drops  of  flatter)'  that  feed  its  existence ! 

Miss  Jane  was  pardonably  proud  that  her  presence  was  so 

essential  to  the  happiness  of  the  orphan  whom  she  fondly  loved, 

nd  gratification  spread  a  pleasant  smile  over  her  worn  features. 

"Where  is  Stanley?  The  child  ought  not  to  be  out  so 
'-ate." 

"  He  went  down  to  the  shee[>-pen  to  count  the  lambs  and 
«x)Jc  after  one  that  broke  its  leg  yesterday.  Miss  Jane,  are  you 
a>o  much  fatigued  to  read  a  letter  which  I  found  this  morning 
D  your  box  at  the  post-office?  " 

"  Is  it  from  Ulpian  ?  I  was  wondering  to-day  why  I  did  not 
hear  from  him.  Dear  me,  what  have  I  done  with  my  spec 
tacles?  They  are  the  torment  of  my  life,  fo,  'ie  instant  I  take 
them  off  my  nore  they  seem  to  find  wings-  Oive  me  tho  letter, 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  99 

and  seo  wliei her  I  left  my  glasses  on  the  bed  where  I  put  nr? 
bonnet." 

Sakrne  went  into  the  next  room  and  unsuccessfully  searched 
th.3  bed,  bureau,  table,  and  "wardrobe ;  and.  in  an  agony  of  im 
patience,  returned  to  the  invalid. 

"  You  must  have  lost  them  before  you  came  home ;  I  can'! 
£s.d  them  anywhere.  Let  me  read  the  letter  to  you." 

"  No  ;  I  must  have  my  glasses.  Perhaps  I  dropped  them  LE 
the  carriage.  Send  word  to  the  driver  to  lock  for  them.  It 
was  very  careless  in  me  to  lose  them,  but  I  am  growing  so  for 
getful.  Hachel,  do  hunt  for  my  spectacles." 

Salome  ground  her  teeth  to  suppress  a  cry  of  vexation;  and,  to 
conceal  her  impatience,  joined  heartily  in  the  search. 

Filially  she  found  the  glasses  on  the  front  steps,  where  they 
had  fallen  when  their  owner  left  the  carriage;  and,  feeling  that 
adverse  fate  could  no  longer  keep  her  in  suspense,  she  hurried 
into  the  house  and  adjusted  them  on  Miss  Jane's  eagle  nose. 

Conscious  that  she  was  fast  losing  control  over  the  nerves 
that  were  quivering  from  long-continued  tension,  Salome  stepped 
to  the  open  window  and  stood  waiting.  Would  the  old  lady 
never  iinish  the  perusal  ?  The  minutes  seemed  hours,  and  the 
pulsing  of  the  blood  in  the  girl's  ears  sounded  RKC  nmtteiing 
thunder. 

Miss  Jane  sighed  heavily,  —  cleared  her  throat,  and  sighed 
again. 

"  It  is  very  sad,  indeed !      ft  is  too  bad,  —  too  ba  ( i  " 

Salome  turned  around,  and  exclaimed,  savagely, — 

"  Why  can't  you  speak  out?  What  is  the  matter  ?  V^Tuit 
kas  happened  ?  " 

"  Ulpian's  friend  is  dead." 

"  Thank  God  !  " 

"  For  shame  !     How  can  you  be  so  heartless  ?  " 

"  If  the  man  could  not  recover  I  should  think  you  would  be 
glad  tliiit  he  is  at  rest,  and  that  your  brother  can  come  home." 

"But.  the  worst  of  the  matter  is  that  Ulpian  is  not  coir  in;  [ 
home.  Mr.  Manton  wished  him  to  act  as  guj;rdi;-n  for  his 
daughter,  who  is  in  Europe,  and  TJlpian  will  sail  ii  ^lie  uc-.xft 


100  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO    *>AJRT. 


/or  England,  to  attend  to  wine  business  connected  witl 
Jie  estate.  It  is  too  provoking,  isn't  it  ?  He  says  it  is  impos 
«ible  to  tell  when  we  shall  see  LLm  again." 

There  was  no  answer,  and,  when  Miss  Jane  wiped  her  eyea 
mnd  looked  around,  she  saw  the  girl  tottering  towards  the  door, 
yoping  her  way  like  one  blind. 

"  Salome,  —  come  here,  child  !  " 

But  the  figure  disappeared  in  the  hall,  and  when  the  moon 
light  looked  into  the  orphan's  chamber  the  soft  rays  showed  a 
girlish  form  kneeling  at  the  window,  with  a  white  face  drench^i 
by  tears,  and  quivering  lips  that  moaned  in  feeble,  broken 
accents,  — 

"  God  help  me  !  I  might  have  known  it,  for  I  had  a  pre 
sentiment  of  terrible  trouble  when  he  went  away.  How  can  1 
trust  God  and  be  patient,  while  the  Atlantic  raves  and  surges 
between  me  and  my  idol  ?  After  all,  it  was  an  angel  of  mercy 
whose  tender  white  hands  held  back  this  bitter  blow  for  7aine 
hours.  Gone  to  Europe,  and  not  one  word  —  not  one  line  —  to 
me  !  Oh,  my  darling  !  you  are  trampling  under  your  feet  the 
heart  that  loves  you  better  than  everything  else  in  the 
universe,  —  better  than  life,  and  its  hopes  of  heaven  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ALOME,  where  did  you  learn  to  sing  ?     1  was  aston 
ished  this  morning  when  I  heard  you." 

"I  have  not  yet  learned,  —  I  have  only  begun  to 
practise." 

"  But,  my  child,  I  had  no  idea  you  owned  such  a  voice. 
Where  have  you  kept  it  concealed  so  long  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  I  had  it  until  a  month  ago,  when  tt 
accidentally  discovered  itself." 
"  It  is  very  powerful." 


UNTIL    DEATH  U8  DO  PAJIT.  1,31 

"Yea,  and  very  rough ;  but  care  an  i  stiidy  wiJ  amooth.  and 
pjlish  it.  Miss  Jane,  please  keep  your  eye  on  Stanley  until  I 
come  home;  for,  although  I  left  him  with  his  slate  and  arithmetic, 
it  is  by  110  means  certain  that  they  will  not  part  company  tks 
moment  1  ani  out  of  sight." 

"  Where  arc  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  carry  back  some  work  which  would  have  been  returns^ 
yesterday  had  not  the  weather  been  so  inclement." 

In  addition  to  the  package  of  embroidered  handkerchiefs, 
S.ilome  carried  under  her  arm  a  roll  of  music  and  an  instruction- 
book;  and,  when  she  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  turned 
away  from  the  main  street  and  stopped  at  the  door  of  a  small 
comfortless-looking  house  that  stood  without  enclosure  on  the 
common. 

Two  swart,  black-eyed  children  were  playing  mumble-peg  with  a 
broken  knife,  in  one  corner  of  the  room ;  a  third,  with  tears  still 
on  its  lashes,  had  just  sobbed  itself  to  sleep  on  a  strip  of  faded 
carpet  stretched  before  the  smouldering  embers  on  the  hearth  ; 
while  the  fourth,  a  feeble  infant  only  six  months  old,  was  wailing 
in  the  arms  of  its  mother,  —  a  thin,  sickly  'woman,  with  consump 
tion's  red  autograph  written  on  her  hollow  cheeks,  where  the 
skin  clung  to  the  bones  as  if  resisting  the  chill  grasp  of  death. 
As  she  slowly  rocked  herself,  striving  to  hush  the  cry  of  the 
child,  her  dry,  baisky  cough  formed  a  melancholy  chorus,  which 
seemed  to  annoy  a  man  who  sat  before  the  small  table  covered 
with  materials  for  copying  music.  His  cadaverous,  sallow  com 
plexion,  and  keen,  restless  eyes,  bespoke  Italian  origin;  and, 
although  en^ra^ed  in  iillin"  some  blank  sheets  with  musical 

D  O     O  O 

aotes,  he  occasionally  took  up  a  violin  that  lay  across  his  knees, 
and,  after  playing  a  few  bars,  laid  aside  the  bow  and  resumed  the 
[>en.  Now  and  then  he  glanced  tit  his  wife  and  child  with  a 
scowling  brow ;  but,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  their  emaciated  fkoes, 
something  like  a  sigh  seemed  to  heave  his  chest. 

When  Salome's  knock  arrested  his  attention  he  rose  and  ad 
vanced  to  the  half-open  door,  saying,  impatiently, — 
"Well,  miss,  have  you  brought  me  any  money?  " 
"  Good  mornincj,  Mr.  Barilli.     Here  are  the  ten  dollars  that  I 
d" 


102  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

promised,  1 1*  T  -wish  you  to  understand  that  in  futr.'e  f  sh&E 
uot  advance  one  cent  of  rny  tuition-money.  When  the  month 
pcds  you  will  receive  your  wages,  but  not  one  day  earlier." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  miss ;  but,  indeed,  you  see  — 

He  did  not  conclude  the  sentence,  but  waved  his  aand 
towards  the  two  in  the  rocking-chair  and  proceeded  to  count 
the  money  placed  in  Ids  palm. 

"  Yes,  I  see  that  you  are  very  destitute,  but  charity  begins  at 
acme,  and  I  have  to  work  hard  for  the  wages  that  you  have 
demanded  before  they  are  due.  Good  morning,  madam ;  I  hope 
you  feel  better  to-day.  Come,  Mr.  Barilli,  T  have  no  time  to 
waste  in  loitering.  Are  you  ready  for  my  lesson  ?  " 

"  Quite  ready,  miss.     Commence." 

For  three-quarters  of  an  hour  he  listened  to  her  exercises, 
which  he  accompanied  with  his  violin,  and  afterwards  directed 
her  to  sing  an  air  from  a  collection  of  songs  on  the  table.  As 
her  deep,  rich  contralto  notes  swelled  nnind  and  full,  he  shut 
his  eyes  and  nodded  his  head  as  if  in  an  ecstacy ;  and,  when 
she  concluded,  he  rapped  his  violin  heavily  with  the  bow,  and 
«xclairned,  — 

"  Some  day  when  you  sing  that  at  Delia  Scala,  remember  the 
poor  devil  who  taught  it  to  you  in  a  hovel.  Soaked  as  those 
old  walls  are  with  music  from  the  most  famous  lips  the  world 
ever  applauded,  they  hold  no  echoes  sweeter  than  that  last  trill. 
After  all,  there  is  no  passion  — -  no  pathos  —  comparable  to  a 
perfect  contralto  crescendo.  It  is  wonderful  how  you  Ameri 
cans  squander  voices  that  would  rouse  all  Europe  into  to 
furore." 

"I  am  afraid  your  eager  desire  for  pupils  biases  your  judg- 
atent,  and  invests  ncy  voice  with  fictitious  worth,"  answered 
Salome,  eyeing  him  suspiciously. 

"Ha!  you  mean  that  I  natter,  in  order  to  keep  you.  Not 
so,  miss.  If  St.  Cecilia  herself  asked  tuition  without  good  pav, 
I  should  shut  the  door  in  her  face;  but,  much  as  I  need  money, 
I  would  not  risk  my  reputation  by  praising  what  was  poor.  If 
one  of  my  children  —  that  miserable  little  Beatrice,  yonder-  - 
only  had  jour  voice,  do  you  think  I  rould  copy  music,  or 


UNTIL  DEATH   U3  DO  PART.  103 

beginners,  or  L  "e  in  this  cursed  hole  ?  You  have  a  fortune  sh\it 
up  in  your  throat,  and  some  day,  when  you  are  celebrated,  at  leaal 
do  rne  the  justice  to  tell  the  world  who  first  found  the  treasure  t 
and,  out  of  your  wealth,  spare  me  a  decent  tombstone  in  the 
Campo  Santo  of — of— 

He  laughed  bitterly,  and,  seizing  his  violin,  filled  the  rocEe 
»ith  mournful  miserere  strains. 

"  How  long  a  course  of  training  do  you  think  will  be  neoee 
sary  before  the  inequalities  in  my  voice  can  be  corrected  and 
my  vocalization  perfected  ?  " 

"You  are  veiy  young,  miss,  and  it  would  not  do  to  strain 
your  voice,  which  is  well-nigh  perfect  in  itself;  but,  of  course, 
your  execution  is  defective,  — just  as  a  young  nightingale  cannot 
warble  all  its  strains  before  it  is  full-feathered.  If  you  study 
faithfully,  in  one  year,  or  certainly  one  and  a  half,  you  will  be 
ready  for  your  engagement  at  Delia  Scala.  Hist !  see  if  you 
can  follow  me  ?  " 

He  played  a  subtle,  chromatic  passage,  ending  in  a  trill,  and 
the  orphan  echoed  it  with  such  accuracy  and  sweetness  that 
the  teacher  threw  down  his  bow,  and,  while  tears  stood  in  his 
glittering  eyes,  he  put  his  brown  hand  on  the  girl's  head,  an«l 
said,  earnestly, — 

"  There  ought  to  be  feathers  here  instead  of  hair,  for  no 
nightingale,  nestled  in  the  olive  groves  of  Italy,  ever  warbled 
more  easily  and  naturally.  Don't  go  out  to  the  world  as  Miss 
Owen,  —  make  it  call  you  Rosignuolo.  Take  the  next  page  in 
flie  instruction-book  for  a  new  lesson,  and  practise  the  old  scales 
over  before  you  touch  the  new,  —  they  are  like  steps  in  a  ladder, 
and  save  jumps  and  jars.  God  made  your  voice  wonderful,  and, 
if  yon  are  only  careful  not  to  undo  his  work,  it  will  develop 
itself  every  year  in  fresh  power  and  depth.  Ha  !  if  m^  poor 
squeaking  Beatrice  only  had  it !  But  there  is  no  more  music 
«t>  >red  in  her  throat  and  chest  than  in  a  regiment  of  rats.  Good 
day,  miss.  Yoiir  lesson  is  ended,  and  I  go  to  buy  some  wood 
for  my  miserable  shiverers." 

He  seized  his  hat  and  walking-stick  and  quitted  the  house, 
Slaving  liis  pupil  to  gather  up  her  music  and  conjecture,  mean- 


104  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

while,  whetker  the  wood-yard  or  a  neighboring  bar-rocm  «rsu 
his  real  destination. 

Hi  a  dissipated  habits  had  greatly  impaired  her  faith  in  th« 
accuracy  of  his  critical  acumen  touching  professional  matters, 
and,  as  she  rolled  up  the  sheet  of  paper  in  her  hands,  Salome 
approached  the  feeble  occupant  of  the  rocking-chair,  and  said, 
father  abruptly,  — 

"  Madam  Barilli,  you  ought  to  know  when  your  husband 
speaks  earnestly  and  when  he  is  merely  indulging  in  idle  flat 
tery,  and  I  wish  to  learn  his  real  opinion  of  ray  voice.  Will 
you  tell  me  the  truth  ?  " 

"Yes,  miss,  I  will.  I  am  no  musician,  and  never  was  in 
Europe,  where  he  studied  ;  but  he  talks  constantly  of  your  voice, 
and  tells  me  there  is  a  fortune  in  it.  Only  last  night  he  swore 
that  if  he  could  control  it,  he  would  riot  take  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars  for  the  right;  and  then,  poor  fellow,  he  fell  into 
one  of  his  fierce  ways  and  boxed  my  little  Beatrice's  ears, 
because,  he  said,  all  the  teachers  in  the  Conservatoire  could  not 
put  into  her  throat  the  trill  that  you  were  born  with.  Ah,  no, 
he  natters  no  one  now !  He  has  forgotten  how,  since  the  day 
that  I  was  coaxed  to  run  away  from  my  father's  elegant  home 
and  marry  the  tenor  singer  of  an  opera  troupe  and  the  professor 
who  taught  me  the  gamut  at  boarding-school.  Miss,  you  may 
believe  him,  for  Sebastian  Barilli  means  what  he  says." 

"  One  hundred  thousand  dollars !  I  promise  him  and  you 
that  if  one-half  of  that  amount  can  be  'trilled'  into  my  pocket 
you  shall  both  be  comfortable  during  the  remainder  of  your 
(Jays." 

"  Mine  aie  numbered,  and  will  end  before  your  career  begins  ; 
and,  when  you  sing  in  Delia  Scala,  I  trust  I  shall  be  singing  up 
yonder  behind  the  stars,  where  cold  and  hunger  and  heartache 
and  cruel  words  cannot  follow  me.  But,  miss,  when  I  am 
gone,  and  Sebastian  is  over  ao  the  corner  trying  to  drown  his 
troubles,  and  my  four  helpless  little  ones  are  left  here  unprrv 
tocted,  for  God's  sake  look  in  \ipon  them  now  and  then,  and 
don't  let  them  cry  for  bread.  My  own  familv  locsj  ago  cast  me 
tiff^  and  here  I  am  a  stranger  ;  but  you,  who  have  felt  the 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  I  Of) 

ot  orphanage,  will  not  stand  by  and  see  my  darlings  starve ' 
Oh,  miss,  the  poor  who  cannot  pity  the  poor  nrast  Ite  hard 
hearted  indeed  ! " 

The  suffering  woman  pressed  her  moaning  habe  closer  to  her 
bosom,  and,  taking  Salome's  hand  between  her  thin,  hot  fingers, 
bowed  her  tear-stained  face  upon  it. 

Grim  recollections  of  similar  scenes  enacted  in  the  old  hous^ 
behind  the  mill  crowded  upon  the  mind  of  the  miller's  daugh* 
ter,  hardening  instead  of  melting  her  heart ;  but,  withdrawing 
her  fingers,  she  said  in  as  kind  a  tone  as  she  could  command,  — 

"The  poor  are  sometimes  too  poor  to  aid  each  other,  and  pity 
is  most  unpalatable  fare ;  but,  if  your  husband  has  not  grossly 
deceived  himself  and  rue  with  reference  to  my  voice,  I  will 
promise  that  your  children  shall  not  suffer  while  I  live.  -For 
their  sake  do  not  despond,  but  try  to  keep  up  your  spirits,  else 
your  husband  will  be  utterly  ruined.  Gloomy  hearthstones 
make  club-rooms  and  bar-rooms  populous.  Good-by.  When  I 
come  again,  I  will  bring  something  to  stimulate  your  appetite, 
which  seems  to  require  coaxing." 

She  stooped  and  looked  for  a  minute  at  the  gaunt,  white  face 
of  the  half-famished  infant  pressed  against  the  mother's  feverish 
breast,  and  an  irresistible  impulse  impelled  her  to  stroke  back 
the  rings  of  black  hair  that  clustered  on  its  sunken  temples; 
then,  snatching  her  music  and  bundle,  she  hurried  out  of  the 
close,  untidy  room,  and,  once  more  upon  the  grassy  common, 
drew  a  long,  deep  breath  of  pure  fresh  air. 

Autumn,  with  orange  dawns,  and  mellow,  misty  moons,  when 

"  Sweet,  calm  days,  hi  golden  haze 
Melt  down  the  amber  sky," 

hhd  died  on  bare  brown  stubble-fields  and  vine-veined  hillsides, 
purple  with  clustering  grapes  on  leafless  branches ;  and  wintry 
days  had  come,  with  sleety  morns  and  chill,  crisp  noons,  and 
scarlet  sunset  banners  flouting  the  si  her  stars  ii  western  ddes, 
where  t:ie  shivering,  gasriiig  old  year  had  wcvtn  •— 

' '  One  strait  gown  of  red 
Against  th«  oold. " 


106  UNTIL  DEATH  US   DO  PAJiT. 

None  of  the  earlier  years  of  Salome's  life  seemed  to  Kai  half 
so  drearily  long  as  the  four  monotonous  months  that  followed 
Dr.  Grey's  departure  ;  and,  during  the  intervals  between  his  brief 
letters  to  his  sister,  the  orphan  learned  a  deceptive  quietude  of 
manner,  at  variance  with  the  tumultuous  feelings  that  agitated 
hsr  hoart ;  for  painful  suspense  which  is  borne  with  clenched 
hands  and  firmly-set  teeth  is  not  the  more  patient  because- 
sternly  mute. 

Which  suffered  least,  Philoctetes  howling  on  the  shores  of 
Lernnos,  or  the  silent  Trojan  priest,  writhing  in  a  death-struggle 
with  the  serpent  folds  that  crushed  him  before  the  altar  of 
Neptune  ? 

If  any  messages  intended  for  Salome  found  their  way  acrosa 
the  ocean,  they  finally  missed  their  destination,  and  reached  the 
dead-letter  office  of  Miss  Jane's  vast  and  inviolate  pocket ;  and, 
while  this  apparent  neglect  piqued  the  girl's  vanity,  the  blessed 
assurance  that  the  absent  master  was  alive  and  well  proved  a 
sovereign  balm  for  all  the  bleeding  wounds  of  amour  propre. 

In  order  to  defray  the  expense  of  her  musical  tuition,  which 
was  carried  on  in  profound  secrecy,  it  was  necessary  to  redouble 
her  exertions;  and  all  the  latent  energy  of  her  character  de 
veloped  itself  in  unflagging  work,  wl  ich  she  persistently  prose 
cuted  early  and  late,  and  in  quiet  defiance  of  Miss  Jane's 
expostulations  and  predictions  that  she  would  permanently 
impair  her  sight. 

Paramount  to  the  desire  of  amassing  wealth  that  would 
enable  her  to  provide  for  Jessie  and  Stanley  rose  the  hope  that 
the  cultivation  of  her  voice  would  invest  her  with  talismanic 
Influence  over  the  man  who  was  singularly  susceptible  of  the 
magic  of  music ;  and,  jealously  guarding  the  new-found  gift,  she 
spared  no  toil  to  render  it  perfect. 

Fearful  that  her  suddenly  acquired  fondness  for  singing  might 
arouse  suspicion  and  inquiry,  she  rarely  practised  at  home 
unless  Miss  Jane  were  absent ;  and,  having  procured  a  tuning- 
fork,  she  retreated  to  the  most  sechided  portion  of  the  adjoining 
forest  and  rehearsed  her  lessons  to  a  mute  audience  of  grazing 
cattle,  sombre  pinee,  nodding  ponies  of  golden-rod,  and  shivering 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  10  < 


white  asters,  belated  and  overtaken  by  •wintry  blasts. 
with  nature,  she  warbled  as  unrestrainedly  as  the  bmls  who 
listened  to  her  quavering  crescendos;  and  more  than  one?  she 
had  become  so  absorbed  in  this  forest  practising,  that  twinkling 
etars  peeped  down  at  her  through  the  fringy  canopy  of  mur- 
muring  tii*s. 

In  fultilment  of  a  promise  given  to  Stanley,  with  the  hope  of 
stimulating  him  to  more  earnest  study,  Salome  one  day  took  a 
piece  of  sewing  and  her  music-book,  and  set  off  with  her  brother 
for  the  sea-shore,  where  he  was  sometimes  allowed  to  amuse 
himself  by  catcliing  crabs  and  shrimps.  The  route  they  were 
compelled  to  take  was  very  circuitous,  since  strangers  were  now 
forbidden  to  stroll  through  the  grounds  attached  to  "  Solitude," 
which  was  the  nearest  point  where  land  and  ocean  met.  Fol 
lowing  a  cattle-path  that  threaded  the  bare  brown  hills  and 
wound  through  low  marsh  meadows,  Salome  at  length  climbed  a 
cliff  that  overhung  the  narrow  strip  of  beach  running  along  the 
base  of  the  promontory,  and,  while  Stanley  prepared  his  net,  she 
applied  herself  vigorously  to  the  completion  of  a  cluster  of  lilies 
of  the  valley  which  she  had  begun  to  embroider  the  preceding 
night. 

it  was  a  mild,  sunny  afternoon,  late  in  December,  with  only 
•i  few  flakes  of  white  curd-like  cirri  drifting  slowly  before  the 
stiffening  south  wind  that  came  singing  a  song  of  the  tropics 
over  the  gently  heaving  waste  of  waters  — 

"Where  the  green  bucLs  of  waves  burst  into  white  froth  flowers." 

Two  glimmering  sails  stood  like  phantoms  on  the  horizon  ;  and 
a  silent  colony  of  snowy  gulls,  perched  in  conclave  on  a  bit  of 
weed-wreathed  drift  floating  landward,  were  the  only  living 
things  in  sight,  save  the  childish  figure  on  the  yel'ow  beach 
nnder  the  bleaching  rocks,  and  the  girlish  one  seated  on  the 
salient  cliff,  where  a  storm-scarred  juniper,  bending  inland, 
waved  its  scanty  fringe  in  the  fresh  salt  breeze. 

No  note  of  human  strife  entered  here,  nor  hum  of  noisy 
business  marts  ;  and  the  solemn  silence,  so  profound  and  holy,  waa 
broken  only  by  the  soft,  mysterious  murmur  of  the  uixineinorisi 


'08  UNTIL  DEATU  US  DO  PART. 

ocean,  as  its  crystal  fingers  sinott  the  harp  of  rosy  -treks  ind 
golden  sands. 

Clasped  in  the  crescent  that  curved  a  mile  northward  my  the 
house,  and  grove,  and  grounds  of  "  Solitude,"  looking  sombre  iii 
the  distance,  as  the  shadow  of  surrounding  hills  fell  upon  tht 
dense  foliage  that  overhung  its  quiet  precincts,  and  tonod  dews 
the  garish  red  of  the  boat-house  roof,  which  lent  a  brief  dash  of 
color  to  the  peaceful  picture.  Beyond  the  last  guarding  promon 
tory  that  seemed  to  have  plunged  through  the  shelving  strand 
to  bathe  in  blue  brine  and  cut  off  all  passage  along  its  base,  a 
strong  well-trained  eye  might  follow  the  trend  of  the  coast  even 
to  the  dim  outlines  and  thread-like  masts,  that  told  where  the 
distant  town  hugged  its  narrow  harbor;  and,  in  the  opposite 
direction,  low,  irregular  sand  hills  and  brown  marshes  crept 
southward,  as  if  hunting  the  warmth  that  alone  could  mantle 

7  O 

them  with  li ving  verdure. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  away,  the  sinking  sun  dipped  suddenly 
behind  a  wooded  eminence,  which,  losing  the  warm  purples  it 
had  worn  since  noon,  grew  chill  aud  blme  as  his  rays  departed  j 
and,  weary  of  her  work,  Salome  put  it  aside  and  began  to  prac 
tise  her  music  lesson,  beating  time  with  her  slender  fingers  on 
the  bare  juniper-roots,  from  which  wind  and  ram  had  driven 
the  soil.  Running  her  chromatic  scales,  and  pausing  at  will  to 
trill  upon  any  minor  note  that  wooed  her  vagrant  fancy,  she 
played  with  her  flexible  voice  as  dexterous  violinists  toy  with 
the  obedienb  strings  they  hold  in  harmonious  bondage  to  their 
bows. 

Finally  she  pushed  the  exercises  away,  and  began  a  fantasia 
from  "Traviata,"  which  she  had  heard  Mr.  Barilli  play  several 
times ;  and  so  absorbed  was  she  in  testing  her  capacity  for  vocai 
gymnastics  that  she  failed  to  observe  the  moving  figure  dwarfu  i 
by  distance  and  pacing  the  sands  in  front  of  "  Solitude." 

The  rich,  fresh  tones  which  seemed  occasionally  to  tremble 
with  the  excess  of  melody  that  burdened  them  played  hide-aad 
seek  among  the  hills,  startling  whole  choruses  of  deep-throated 
echoes,  and  attending  and  retentive  ocean,  ea vein ng  the  strains 
»n  bar  beryl  sti ings,  bore  them  whither  —  tuid  how  far?  To 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  109 


paYm-plumed  equatorial  isles,  where  dying  auricular  nerves 
took  them  ft  r  seraphic  utterances  ?  To  toiling  mariners,  tossed 
helplessly  by  fierce  typhoons,  who,  pausing  in  their  scramble  for 
spars,  listened  to  the  weird  melody  that  presaged  woe  and 
wreck?  To  the  broken  casements  of  fishermen's  huts,  on  di» 
tant  shores,  where  anxious  wives  peered  out  in  the  blackening 
tempest,  and  shrank  back  appalled  by  sounds  which  sea-tradi 
tion  averred  were  born  in  coral  caves,  mosaiced  with  blanching 
bonuin  skulls?  What  hoary  hiero  pliant  in  the  mysteries  of 
cataphonics  and  diacoustics  wiP  undertake  to  track  those  trills 
across  the  blue  bosom  of  the  Atlantic  or  the  purplish  billows  of 
the  Indian  Ocean  ? 

The  wind  went  down  witli.  the  sun;    silver-edged  cirri  lost 
their  glitter,  and  swift  was 

"The  spread 

Of  orange  lustre  through  these  azure  spheres 
Where  little  clouds  lie  still  like  flocks  of  sheep, 
Or  vessels  sailing  in  God's  other  deep." 

f»»  that  wondrous  and  magical  after-glow  which  tenderly 
hoveib  over  the  darkening  face  of  the  dying  day,  like  the 
strange,  spectral  smile  that  only  sheds  its  cold,  supernatural 
light  on  lips  twelve  hours  dead,  Salome's  fair  face  and  grace 
ful  pose  was  as  softly  defined  against  the  western  sky  as  some 
nimbussed  taunt  or  madonna  on  the  golden  background  of  old 
Byza  itine  pictures.  Her  small  straw  hat,  wreathed  with  Bc&rlei 
poppies,  lay  at  her  feet;  and  around  her  shoulders  she  had  closely 
folded  a  bright  plaid  flannel  cloak,  which  tinted  her  complexion 
with  its  ruddy  hues,  as  firelight  flushes  the  olive  portraits  that 
gtare  at  it  from  surrounding  walls,  and  the  braided  black  hair 
jid  large  hazel  eyes  showed  every  brown  tint  and  topaz  gleam. 

Leaning  her  arms  on  the  top  of  her  music-book,  she  rt"iu><i 
h<»^  -chin  upon  them,  and  sat  looking  seaward,  singing  a  difficult 
passage,  in  the  midst  of  which  her  nimble  voice  tripped  on  ui  £ 
flat,  and,  missing  the  staccato  step,  rolled  helplessly  dowr.  in  a 
legato  flood  of  melody  ;  whereupon,  with  an  impatient  grimace 
«iie  shut  her  even,  weary  of  watching  the  wa,v«-shimm>  >r  timt 
10 


110  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

almost  dazzled  her.  After  a  few  seconds,  when  she  opened 
them,  there  stood  just  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  as  if  poised  in 
air,  a  woman  whose  face  and  form  were  as  sharply  cut  in  pro 
file  on  the  azure  sea  and  sky  as  white  cameo  feamres  on  black 
Agate  grounds. 

Around  the  tall  figure  shining  folds  of  silver  roplin  hung 
heavy  and  statuesque,  and  over  the  shoulders  a  blue  crape 
shawl  was  held  by  a  beautiful  blue- veined  hand,  where  a 
sapphire  asp  kept  guard ;  while  a  cluster  of  double  violets 
fastened  behind  one  shell-like  ear  breathed  their  perfume  among 
glossy  bands  of  gray  hair. 

"  There  was  no  color  in  the  quiet  mouth, 
Nor  fulness ;  yet  it  had  a  ghostly  grace, 
Pathetically  pale," 

and  wan,  and  woful  —  the  still  face  turned  seaward,  fronting  a 
round  white  moon  that  was  lifting  its  full  disk  out  of  the  line 
where  air  and  water  met  —  she  stood  motionless. 

Lifting  her  head,  Salome  shivered  involuntarily,  and  grew  a 
shade  paler  as  she  breathlessly  watched  the  apparition,  expecting 
that  it  would  fade  into  blue  air  or  float  down  and  mingle  with 
the  waters  that  gave  it  birth.  But  there  was  no  wavering 
mistiness  about  the  shining  drapery;  and,  presently,  when  she 
turned  and  came  forward,  the  orphan,  despite  her  sneers  at 
superstition,  felt  the  hair  creep  and  rise  on  her  temples,  and, 
springing  to  her  feet,  they  faced  each  other.  As  the  stranger 
advanced,  Salome  unconsciously  retreated  a  few  steps,  and 
exclaimed,  — 

"  Gray-eyed,  gray-haired,  gray-clad,  gray-faced,  and  rising  out 
of  that  gray  sea,  I  suppose  I  have  at  last  met  the  gray  ghost 
that  people  tell  me  haunts  old  '  Solitude.'  But  how  came  such 
•i  yoTing  face  under  that  drift  of  white  hair  ?  If  all  ghosts  have 
such  finely  carved,  delicate  noses  and  chins,  such  oval  cheeks 
and  pretty  brows,  most  of  us  here  in  the  flesh  might  thank  for 
tune  for  a  chance  to  '  shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil.'  Say,  are  yov 
the  troubled  evil  spirit  that  haunts  *  Solitude '  ?  " 

«J  MU," 


UNTIL  DEATH    IS  DO  PART.  Ill 

The  voice  was  so  mournfully  sweet  that  it  thrilled  a,verv 
nerve  in  Salome's  quivering  frame. 

"Phantom  or  ilesh  —  which  are  you?  " 

"  Mrs,  Gerom.3,  the  owner  of  '  Solitude.'  " 

"  Oh,  indeed !  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  but  1  took  you  fof 
ft  wraith  !  You  know  the  place  has  always  been  considered  on- 
kicky  —  haunted  —  and  you  are  such  an  extraordinary-looking 
person  I  was  inclined  to  tliink  I  had  stumbled  on  the  tradi 
tional  ghost.  I  am  neither  ignorant  nor  stupidly  superstitious , 
bat,  madam,  you  must  admit  you  have  an  unearthly  appearance ; 
*nd,  moreover,  I  should  be  glad  to  know  how  you  rose  from  the 
beach  below  to  the  top  of  this  cliff?  I  see  no  feathers  on  your 
shoulders  —  no  balloon  under  your  feet !  " 

"  I  was  walking  on  the  sands  in  front  of  iny  door,  and,  hear 
ing  some  very  sweet  strains  that  came  floating  down  from  this 
direction,  I  followed  the  sound,  and  climbed  by  means  of  steps 
cut  in  the  side  of  this  cliff.  Since  you  regarded  me  as  a  spec 
tre,  I  may  a,s  well  tell  you  that  I  was  beginning  to  fancy  I  was 
listening  to  one  of  the  old  sea-sirens,  until  I  saw  your  rosy  face 
and  red  lips,  far  too  human  for  a  dripping  mermaid  or  a  mur 
derous,  mocking  Aglaiopheme." 

"  No  more  a  siren,  madam,  than  you  are  a  ghost !  I  am  only 
Salomci  Owen,  the  miller's  child,  waiting  for  that  boy  yonder, 
whose  snbliip.est  idea  of  heaven  consists  in  the  hope  that  ita 
blessed  sea  of  glass  is  brimming  with  golden  shrimp.  Stanley, 
run  around  tlie  cliff,  and  meet  me.  It  is  too  late  for  us  to  be 
here.  "We  should  have  started  home  an  hour  ago." 

"  Who  taught  you  <  Traviata '  ?  " 

"  I  am  teaching  myself,  with  what  small  help  I  can  obtain 
from  -A  vagabond  musician,  ~vho  calls  himself  Signer  Barilli,  and 
claims  to  have  been  a  tenor  singer  in  an  opera  troupe  a£ 
Milan." 

"You  ought  to  cultivate  your  voice  as  thorougmy  as  pos 
sible." 

"  "Why  ?  Is  it  really  good  ?  Tell  me,  is  it  worth  anything  ? 
No  one  has  heard  it  except  that  Italian  violinist;  and,  if  h« 
praises  it,  I  sometimes  f3ar  it  is  because  he  is  so  horribly  disai 


212  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAET. 

pated  that  he  confounds  my  bravura  runs  with  the  clicking  of 
his  •wine-glasses  and  the  gurgling  of  his  flask.  Do  you  km)"* 
much  about  music  ?  " 

"I  have  heard  the  best  living  performers,  vocal  and  instru 
mental,  and  to  a  finer  voice  than  yours  I  never  listened ;  bui 
you  need  study  and  practice,  for  your  execution  is  faulty.  Ycra 
have  a  splendid  instrument ;  but  you  do  not  yet  understand  its 
management.  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  At '  Grassmere,'  a  farm  two  miles  behind  those  hills,  and  in 
a  house  hidden  under  elm  and  apple  trees.  Madam,  it  is  very 
late,  and  1  must  bid  you  good-evening.  Before  I  go,  I  should 
like  to  know,  if  you  will  not  deem  me  unwarrantably  imperti 
nent,  whether  you  are  a  very  young  persou  with  white  hair, 
or  whether  you  are  a  very  old  woman  with  a  wonderfully  young 
fac-e?" 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  answer ;  and,  supposing  that  she 
had  offended  her,  the  orphan  bowed  and  was  turning  away,  when 
Mrs.  Gerorae's  calm,  mournful  tones  arrested  her  : 

"  I  am  only  twenty-three  years  old." 

She  walked  away,  turning  her  countenance  towards  the  water, 
where  moonlight  was  burnishing  the  waves ;  and,  when  Salome 
and  Stanley  had  reached  the  bend  in  their  path  that  would  shut 
out  the  view  of  the  beach,  the  former  looked  back  and  saw  the 
silver-gray  figure  standing  alone  on  the  silent  shore,  communing 
with  the  silver  sea,  as  desolate  and  as  hopeless  as  Buchanan'a 
"Penelope,"  — 

1  An  alabaster  woman,  whose  fixed  eyes 
Stare  seaward,  whether  it  be  storm  or  calm." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Sheldon,  do  you  think   she   is    danger® IB! j 

-      ill?" 
KJ  $°i$M 

k-'iz2£'-'^  "  I  am  afraid,  Salome,  that  she  will  soon  become 
so ;  for  she  is  threatened  with  a  violent  attack  of  pneumonia, 
'Jt'Lich  would  certainly  bo  very  dangerous  to  a  woman  cf  her 
a:re.  It  is  a  great  misfortune  that  her  brother  is  absent." 

"Dr.  Grey  reached  New  York  three  days  ago." 

"Indeed!  1  will  telegraph  immediately,  and  hasten  his 
return." 

Dr.  Sheldon  was  preparing  a  blister  in  the  room  adjoining 
the  one  occupied  by  Miss  Jane,  and  the  orphan  stood  by  his 
side,  twisting  her  fingers  nervously  over  each  other,  and  looking 
perplexed  and  anxious.  He  returned  to  his  patient,  and  when 
ho  came  out  some  moments  later,  and  took  up  his  hat,  his  coun 
tenance  was  by  no  means  reassuring. 

"Although  I  know  that  you  are  very  much  attached  to  Misi 
Jane,  and  would  faithfully  endeavor  to  nurse  her,  you  are  sc. 
young  and  inexperienced  that  I  do  not  feel  quite  willing  tc 
leave  her  entirely  to  your  guardianship;  and,  therefore,  shall 
send  a  woman  here  to-night  who  will  fully  understand  the  case. 
She  i«  a.  professional  nurse,  and  Dr.  Grey  will  be  relieved  to 
hear  that  his  sister  is  in  her  hands,  for  he  has  great  confidence 
ii>.  her  good  sense  and  discretion.  I  shall  stop  at  the  telegraph 
ofilce,  as  I  go  home,  and  urge  him  to  return  at  once.  Give  IMP 
1  i:-;  address.  Do  not  look  so  dejected.  Miss  Grey  has  a  bat  tot 
constitution  than  most  persons  are  disposed  to  believe,  and  ahc 
!'.;ay  struggle  through  this  attack." 

The  new  year  was  ushered  in  by  heavy  and  incessant  miir,-, 
4jid, having  imprudently  insisted  upon  superintending  the  iraifi 
s. f.re  of  «  new  sheep-fold  and  the  erection  of  an  additional  :attle- 
?h«;d,  Miss  Jane  had  taken  a  severe  cold,  which  resulted  in  pneu 
monia. 

Assiduously  and  tenderly  Salome  watched  over  her,  air.'   evee 


114  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

after  tho  arrival  of  Hester  Dennison,  the  nurse,  the  orphan't 
solicitude  would  not  permit  her  to  quit  the  apartment  where 
her  benefactress  lay  struggling  with  disease;  while  Miss  Jane 
shrank  from  the  stranger,  and  preferred  to  receive  the  medicine 
from  the  hand  of  her  adopted  child. 

When  Dr.  Sheldon  stood  by  the  bed  early  r.^xt  morn'Lug,  an»* 
acted  the  effect  of  his  treatment,  Salome's  keen  eye  observ«a 
the  dissatisfied  expression  of  his  face,  and  she  drew  sad  auguries 
from  his  clouded  brow.  He  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  and 
said,  cheerfully, — 

"  Come,  Miss  Jane,  get  up  a  smile  to  pay  me  for  the  good 
news  I  bring.  Can  you  guess  what  this  means  ?  "  holding  an 
envelope  close  to  her  eyes*. 

"  More  blisters  and  fever  mixtures,  I  suppose.  Doctor,  my 
poor  side  is  in  a  dreadful  condition." 

As  she  laid  her  hand  over  her  left  lung,  she  winced  and 
groaned, 

"  How  rmich  would  you  give  to  have  your  brother's  hand, 
instead  of  mine,  on  your  pulse  ?  " 

"All  that  I  am  worth!  But  my  boy  is  in  Europe,  and  car'A 
come  back  to  me  now,  when  I  need  him  most." 

"  No,  he  is  in  New  York.  You  have  been  dreaming,  and  for 
get  that  he  has  reached  America." 

"  No,  I  never  knew  it.     Salome,  is  there  a  letter  ?  " 

"No  letter,  but  a  dispatch  announcing  his  arrival.  [  told 
you;  but  you  must  have  fallen  asleep  while  I  was  talking  to 
you." 

"  No  such  thing !     1  have  not  slept  a  wink  for  a  week." 

u  That  ia  right,  Miss  Jane ;  scold  as  much  as  you  like ;  it  will 
io  you  no  harm.  But,  meantime,  let  me  tell  you  I  have  just 
heard  from  Dr.  Grey,  and  he  is  now  on  his  way  home." 

Salome  was  sitting  near  the  pillow,  and  suddenly  her  head 
bowed  itself,  while  her  lips  whispered,  inaudibly, — 

"Thank  God!" 

The  invalid's  face  brightened,  and,  stretching  her  thin,  he? 
band  towards  the  orphan,  she  touched  her  shoulder,  and  said  — 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  lift 

"Do  you  hear  that,  my  child V  tllpian  is  coming  hfrao. 
When  will  he  be  here '?  " 

"  Day  after  to-morrow  evening,  I  hope,  if  there  is  no  deten 
tion  and  he  niak.es  all  the  railroad  connections.  I  trust  you 
will  prove  sufficiently  generous  to  bear  testimony  to  my  profes 
sional  skill,  by  improving  so  rapidly  that  when  he  arrives  there 
will  be  nothing  left  to  do  but  compliment  my  sagacity,  and  thank 
me  for  relieving  you  so  speedily.  Is  not  your  cough  ratbei 
better  ?  " 

She  did  pot  reply;  and,  bending  down,  he  saw  that  she  ~wafl 
asleep. 

"  Doctor,  I  am  afraid  she  is  not  much  better." 

lie  sighed,  shook  his  head,  and  beckoned  Hester  into  the 
hall  in  order  to  question  her  more  minutely  concerning  the 
patient. 

That  night  and  the  next  she  was  delirious,  and  failed  to 
recognize  any  one ;  but  about  noon  on  the  following  day  she 
opened  her  eyes,  and,  looking  intently  at  Salome,  who  stood  near 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  she  said,  as  if  much  perplexed,  — 

"  1.  saw  Ulpian  just  now.     Where  is  he?" 

"  He  will  be  here  this  afternoon,  I  hope.  The  train  is  due  at 
two  o'clock,  and  it  is  now  a  quarter  past  twelve." 

"  I  tell  you  I  saw  him  not  ten  minutes  since." 

"  You  are  feverish,  dear  Miss  Jane,  and  have  been  dream 
ing." 

"  Don't  contradict  me  !  Am  I  in  my  dotage,  think  you  ?  I 
•v*  ••»  my  boy,  and  he  was  pale,  and  had  blood  on  his  hands,  and 
It  ran  down  his  beard  and  dripped  on  his  vest.  You  can't 
leceive  me  !  What  is  the  matter  with  my  poor  boy  ?  1  wiP 
sw  him  !  Give  me  my  crutches  this  instant !  " 

She  struggled  into  a  partially  upright  position,  but  fell  back 
upon  her  pillow  exhausted  and  panting  for  breath. 

"  You  were  delirious.  I  give  you  my  word  that  he  has  not 
yet  come  home.  It  was  only  a  horrible  dream.  Hester  will 
K^sure  you  of  the  truth  of  vhat  I  say.  You  must  lie  still,  for 
tfiis  excitement  will  injure  you." 

Tke  nurse  gave  her  a  powerful  sedative,  and  strove  to  divert 


116  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART. 

her    thoughts ;   but  ever  and   anon  she  shuddered  aud  \vhis 
pered,  — 

"  It  was  not  a  dream.  I  saw  my  dear  sailor-boy,  and  he  was 
hurt  and  bleeding.  I  know  what  I  saw ;  and  if  you  and  Hest*?i 
swore  till  every  star  dropped  out  of  heaven,  I  would  not  beiii'v* 
you.  If  I  am  old  and  dying,  my  eyes  are  better  than  y.urs, 
My  poor  Ulpian  !  " 

Despite  her  knowledge  of  the  feverish  condition  of  the  sick 
woman,  and  her  incredulity  with  reference  to  the  vision  that  so 
painfully  disturbed  her,  Salome's  lips  blanched,  and  a  vague, 
niimeless,  horrible  dread  seized  her  heart. 

"Very  soon  Miss  Jane  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  and,  while  the 
nurse  btisied  herself  in  preparing  a  bottle  of  beef-tea,  the  orphan 
sat  with  her  head  pressed  against  the  bed-post,  and  her  eyes 
riveted  on  the  face  of  the  watch  in  her  palm,  where  the  minute- 
hand  seemed  now  and  then  to  stop,  as  if  for  breathing-time,  and 
the  hour-hand  to  have  forgotten  the  way  to  two  o'clock. 

For  nearly  six  months  Salome  had  counted  the  weeks  and 
days,  —  had  waited  and  hoped  for  the  hour  of  Dr.  Grey's  return 
as  the  happiest  of  her  life,  —  had  imagined  his  greeting,  the 
bright,  steady  glow  in  his  fine  eyeb,  the  warm,  cordial  pressure 
of  his  white  hand,  the  friendly  tones  of  his  pleasant  voice ;  for, 
though  he  had  failed  to  bid  her  good-by,  fate  could  not  cheat 
her  out  of  the  interview  that  must  follow  his  arrival.  Fancy 
had  painted  so  vividly  all  the  incidents  that  would  characterize 
this  longed-for  greeting,  that  she  had  lived  it  over  a  thousand 
times ;  and,  now  that  the  meeting  seemed  actually  at  hand,  she 
asked  herself  whether  it  were  possible  that  disappointment  could. 
jiciu  one  poisonous  drop  into  the  brimming  draught  of  joy  thai 
rose  foaming  in  amber  bubbles  co  her  parched  lips. 

In  chn  profound  silence  that  pervaded  the  darker ed  rocrrt 
the  ticking  of  the  watch  was  annoyingly  audible,  and  seeinod  to 
Salome's  strained  and  excited  nerves  so  unusuallv  loud  that 
she  feared  it  might  disturb  the  sleeper.  At  a  quarter  to  twc 
o'clock  she  went  to  the  hearth  and  aoiselessly  renewed  the  fire, 
laying  two  fresh  pieces  of  oak  across  the  shining  brass  andirons, 
whose  feet  represented  Lions'  heads. 


DEATH  vs  DO  PART.  in 

She  swept  the  hearth,  arranged  some  vials  that  -were  scattered 
an  the  dressing-table,  and  gave  a  low  improving  touches  to  a  vasa 
tilled  with  white  and  orange  ert-cuses,  then  crept  back  to  the 
bedside  and  again  picked  up  the  watch.  It  still  lacked  fifteen 
liiiuutes  of  two,  and,  looking  more  closely,  she  found  that  it  had 
shopped.  Tossing  it  into  a  hollow  formed  by  the  folds  of  the 
:  over  lid,  and  repressing  an  impatient  ejaculation,  she  listened 
foi-  the  sound  of  the  railroad  whistle,  which,  though  muffled  by 
fiiKt'-anco,  had  not  failed  to  reach  her  every  day  during  the  past 
week. 

Presently  the  silence,  which  made  her  ears  ache,  throbbed  so 
•suddenly  that  she  started,  but  it  was  only  the  "cuckoo! 
uckoo  !  "  of  the  painted  bird  on  the  gilded  clock.  That  clock 
vas  fifteen  minutes  slower  than  Miss  Jane's  watch ;  and  Salome 
put  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  tried  to  still  the  loud  thumping 
Bound  of  the  blood  at  her  heart. 

The  train  was  behind  time.     Only  a  few  moments  as  yet,  but 
something    must  iiave    happened  to   occasion  even  this    slight 
delay ;  and,  if  something,  —  what? 
Hester  came  in  and  whispered, — 

"  Dinner  is  ready,  and    Stanley  is  hungry.      Has   Miss  Jane 
•'sirred  since  I  went  out?" 
"No;  what  time  is  it?" 
"Half  after  two." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !      You  are  too  fast." 

"  Not  a  minute,  —  begging  your  pardon.     My  brother  stays 
at  the  depot,  and  keeps  my  -watch  with  the  railroad  time." 

Salome  went  to  the  dining-room,  ga-/e  Stanley  his  dinner, 
wid,  anxious  to  escape  observation,  shut  herself  in  the  dip?,  cold 
parlor,  -where  she  paced  the  floor  undl  the  cuckoo  jumped  out, 
clurped  three  times,  and,  as  if  frightened  by  the  girl's  fixed 
eye-s,  fluttered  back  inside  the  clock.  More  than  an  hour  behind 
time !  Now,  beyond  all  hope  or  doubt,  there  had  been  an.  acci 
dent  !  Loss  of  sleep  for  several  consecutive  nights,  and  pro 
tracted  anxiety  concerning  Miss  Jane,  luid  so  unnerved  the 
;>rph:iii  that  she  was  less  able  to  cope-  successfully  vith  this 
ban-owing  suspense  than  on  former  occasions;  still  the  Bta>- 


118  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Sfiiine  hopefulness  of  youth  battled  valiantly  with  the  ghcala 
that  apprehension  conjured  up,  and  she  remembered  that  com 
paratively  trivial  occurrences  had  sometimes  detained  the  train, 
which  finally  brought  all  its  human  freight  safely  to  the  dejK-'.. 

The  day  had  been  very  cold  and  gloomy  ;  and  thick,  le 
of  smoke-colored  cloud  scudded  across  the  chill  sky, 
*loug  their  skirts  by  a  stinging  north-east  blast  into  dun.  ragged, 
trailing  banners.  Despite  the  keenness  of  the  air,  Salome 
opened  one  of  the  parlor  windows  and  leaned  her  faco  on  the 
broad  siK,  where  a  drizzling  rain  began  to  show  itself.  She  had 
read  and  heard  just  enough  with  reference  to  the  phenomena,  of 
clairvoyance  to  sneer  at  them  in  liaj  >py  hours,  and  to  recur  help 
lessly  to  the  same  subject  with  a  species  of  silent  dread  when 
misfortune  seemed  imminent.  To-day,  as  Miss  Jane's  delirious 
utterances  haunted  every  nook  and  cranny  of  her  excited  brain, 
permeating  all  topics  of  thought,  she  recalled  many  instances,  on 
legendary  record,  where  the  dying  were  endowed  with  talismanic 
power  over  the  secrets  of  futurity.  Could  it  bo  possible  that 
Miss  Jane  had  really  seen  what  was  taking  place  many  miles 
distant?  Reason  shook  her  hoary  head,  and  jeered  at  such 
childish  fatuity;  but  superstitious  credulity,  goaded  by  an 
intense  anxiety,  would  not  be  silenced  nor  put  to  the  blush,  but 
boldly  babbled  of  Swedenborg  and  burning  Stockholm. 

Once  she  had  heard  Dr.  Grey  tell  his  sister,  in  answer  to  ooine 
inquiry  concerning  the  arcana  of  mesmerism,  that  he  had  be 
stowed  much  time  and  thought  upon  the  investigation  of  the 
subject,  and  was  thoroughly  convinced  that  there  existed  subtle 
psychological  laws  whose  operations  were  not  yet  comprehended, 
hut  which,  when  analyzed  and  studied,  would  explain  the  re- 
Hinrkable  influence  of  mind  over  mind,  and  prove  that  the  diesd 
and  bariling  mysteries  of  psychology  were  merely  normal  devel 
opments  of  intellectual  power  instead  of  supernatural  or  spiritLi,' 
rnani  festations. 

This  abstract  view  of  the  matter  was,  however,  most  unsatxs 
factory  at  the  present  juncture;  and  the  current  of  Salome's 
reflections  was  abruptly  changed  by  the  sound  of  the  locomotive 
—  not  the  prolonged,  steady  roar,  announcing  arrival  but 


UNTIL  DEATR   US  DO  PART.  119 

the  sharp,  short,  shrill  note  of  departure.  Soon  after,  the  'Jock 
etruck  four,  and.  ere  the  echoes  fell  asleep  once  more  ix.  the 
sombre  corners  of  thn  quiet  parlor,  J)r.  Sheldon  drove  up  to  the 
front  door  and  entered  tho  house.  Springing  into  the  hall, 
Salome  met  him,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

Sf  Salome,  your  face  frightens  me.  How  is  Miss  Jane?  ILas 
:!/•  grown  worse  so  rapidly  since  T  was  here  this  morning?" 

';1  see  little  change  in  her.  But  you  have  locked  bad  news 
behind  your  set  teeth.  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  don't  torture  me 
Hie  second  longer  !  Tell  me  the  worst.  What  has  happened?" 

"  The  down-train  was  thrown  from  an  embankment  twenty 
fuet  high,  and  the  cars  took  lire.  Many  lives  have  been  sacri 
ficed,  and  it  is  the  most  awful  affair  I  ever  heard  of." 

He  had  partially  averted  his  head  to  avoid  the  sight  of  her 
whitening  and  convulsed  features ;  but,  laying  her  hands  heavily 
upon  his  shoulders,  she  forced  him  to  face  her,  and  her  voice 
sank  to  a  husky  whisper, — 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  " 

"  I  hope  not." 

"  Speak  out.  —  or  I  shall  go  mad  !      Is  he  dead?" 

"Calm  yourself,  Salome,  and  let  us  hope  for  the  best.  We 
know  nothing  of  the  particulars  of  this  dreadful  disaster,  and 
have  learned  the  names  of  none  of  the  sufferers.  I  have  little 
doubt,  tli at  Dr.  Grey  was  on  the  train,  but  there  is  no  certainty 
that  \w  was  injured.  The  regular  up-train  could  not  leave  aa 
usual,  becau.se  the  track  was  badly  torn  up;  but  a  locomotive 
and  three  cars  ran  out  a  while  ago  with  several  surgeons  and 
a;-tiei;:s  required  for  the  victims.  Pray  sit  down,  my  poor  ehiJd, 
for  you  an-  unable  to  stand," 

"Where  did  it  happen?" 

"Near  Silver  Rim  water-tank,  —  about  forty  miles  from  here. 
I/he  accid'iiit  occurred  at  twelve  o'clock." 

Salome'?  grasp  suddenly  relaxed,  and.  tossing  her  hands  above 
her  head,  she  laughed  hysterically,  — 

"II;!.,  ha  !  Thank  (rod,  he  is  not  dead  !  He  is  only  hurt,  — 
>uJy  bleeding.  Miss  Jane  saw  it  all,  and  h«  is  not  dead,  ">r  she 
would  have  known  it  Thar.k  God  !" 


130  UNTIL  DEATH  DO   US  PART. 

DT.  Sheldon  was  a  stern  man  and  renowned  for  hia  iron 
nerves,  but  he  shuddered  as  he  loc  ked  at  the  pinched,  wan  face, 
and  heard  the  unnatural,  hollow  sound  of  her  unsteady  voice. 
H:ui  oare,  watching,  and  suspense  unpoised  her  reason  ? 

Something  of  that  which  passed  through  his  mind  looked  out; 
>f  his  eyes,  and,  interpreting  their  amazed  expression,  the  gin 
<raved  her  hand  towards  the  door,  and  added,  — 

"I  am  not  insane.     Go  in,  and  Hester  will  explain." 

He  turned  away,  and  she  went  back  to  the  dusky  room  arid 
'•hre^r  herself  down  on  the  sofa,  opposite  to  the  portrait  of 
the  IT.  S.  surgeon. 

Of  what  passed  during  the  following  two  hours,  she  retained, 
\n  after  years,  only  a  dim,  confused,  painful  memory  of  prayers 
*nd  promises  made  to  God  in  behalf  of  the  absent. 

Once  before,  when  Miss  Jane's  death  seemed  imminent,  sho 
had  been  grieved  and  perplexed  by  the  possibility  that  Dr.  Grey 
would  inherit  the  estate  and  usurp  her  domains  ;  but  to-day, 
when  the  Great  Reaper  hovered  over  the  panting,  emaciated 
sullerer,  and  simultaneously  threatened  the  distant  brother  and 
sole  heir  of  the  extended  possessions  which  this  girl  had  so  ion^ 
coveted,  the  only  thought  that  tilled  her  heart  with  dread  and 
wrung  half-smothered  cries  from  her  lips  was,  - 

"Spare  his  life,  oh,  my  God!  Leave  me  penniless  —  take 
friends,  relatives,  comforts,  hopes  of  wealth  —  take  all  —  take 
everything,  but  spare  that  precious  life  and  bring  him  safely 
back  to  me  !  Have  mercy  on  me,  O  Lord,  and  do  not  snatch 
him  away!  for,  if  I  lose  Mm  now,  I  lose  faith  in  Christ  —  in 
Thee  —  I  lose  all  hope  in  time  and  eternity,  and  my  sinf  ai, 
•*  recked  soul  will  go  down  forever  in  a  night  that  knows  n^ 


For  six  months  she  had  been  indeed,  — 

u  A  faded  watcher  throug-h  the  weary  nig-ht  — 
A  meek,  sweet  statue  at  the  silver  ehrinea, 
In  deep,  perpetual  prayer  for  him  she  loved;" 

but  patience,   dragging  anchor,  finally  snapped  its  cabin,  an 
now,  instead  of  an  humble  suppliant  for  the  boon  t,ha+   tlon 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PAUL'.  J'j] 

made  existence  endurable,  she  fiercely  demanded  that  her  dol 
»hould  not  be  broken,  and,  battling  with  Jehovah,  impiously 
thrust  her  life  down  before  Him  as  an  accursed  and  intolerable 
fc'zrden,  unless  her  prayers  were  granted.  Ah,  what  scorpions 
2.n«i  stones  we  gather  to  our  boards,  and  then  dare  charge  the 
wringing  mockeries  against  a  long-sulFering,  loving  God !  Ten 
,:i)VH  before,  Salome  had  meekly  prayed,  "Thy  will  be  done," 
ti.o.d  had  comforted  herself  with  the  belief  that  at  last  she  was 
beginning  to  grow  pious  and  trusting,  like  Miss  Jane;  but,  at 
the  first  hint  of  harm  to  Dr.  Grey,  she  sprang  up,  utterly  oblivi 
ous  of  the  protestations  of  resignation  that  were  scarcely  cold 
on  her  lips,  and  furious  as  a  tigress  who  .sees  the  hunter  approach 
the  jungle  where  all  her  fierce  affections  centre.  God  help  us 
all  who  pray  orthodoxly  for  His  will,  and  yet,  when  the  emer 
gency  arrives,  tight  desperately  for  our  own,  feeling  wofuliy 
aggrieved  that  He  takes  us  at  our  word,  and  moulds  the  clay 
which  we  make  a  Pharisaical  pretense  of  offering! 

A  slow  driz/.ling  rain  whitened  the  distant  hills,  that  seemed 
to  blanch  in  their  helplessness  as  the  Avind  smote  them  like  a 
flail ;  and  it  wove  a  gvayish  veil  over  the  leafless  boughs  of 
bending,  shivering  elms,  on  the  long,  dim  avenue.  The  wintry 
afternoon  closed  swiftly,  and,  in  its  dusky  dreariness,  Salome 
listened  to  the  tattoo  of  the  ram  on  the  roof,  and  to  the  miserere 
that  wailed  through  the  lonely  chambers  of  her  soul.  The  chill 
at  her  heart  froze  her  to  numbness  and  oblivion  of  the  coldness 
of  the  atmosphere,  and,  when  a  servant  came  in  to  elo.se  the 
window  against  the  slanting  sleet,  she  lay  so  still  that  the 
woman  thought,  her  asleep,  and  stohi  away  on.  tip-toe.  The 
room  grew  dark ;  but,  through  the  half-opened  door,  the  light 
•f.-om  the  hall  lamp  ere1  it  in  and  fell  on  the  gilded  frame  and 
paiuted  face  of  the  portrait,  tracing  a  silvery  path  along  the 
*h>on?y  wall.  As  the  night  deepened,  that  wave  of  light  rippled 
ind  glittered  until  the  handsome  features  in  the  picture  seemed 
to  belong  to  some  hierareh  who  peeped  iVorn  a  window  of  heaven, 
into  a  world  drenched  with  unliffcinc*  d;n 

That  oval  piece  of  canvas  had  become 
Salome'?  heart  clung  in  silent  adoration, 
11 


122  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PASf. 

tic  touch  of  reason  and  the  adverse  decree  of  womanly  prida  ,• 
for  natures  such  as  hers  will  always  grovel  in  the  dust,  hugging 
the  mutilated  fragments  of  their  idol,  rather  than  bow  at  some 
new,  fretted  shrine,  where  other  images  hold  sway,  commanding 
worship.  Looking  up  almost  wolfishly  at  that  tranquil,  shining 
countenance,  she  said  to  her  sullen,  mourning  heart,  — 

"  There  are  no  more  like  him,  and,  if  we  lose  him,  there  i« 
nothing  left  in  life,  and  all  hope  is  at  an  end,  smdjinis  shall  be 
printed  on  the  first  page  of  the  book  of  our  existence ;  and  ruin, 
like  a  pitiless  pall,  shall  cover  what  might  have  been  a  happy, 
possibly  a  grand  and  good,  human  career.  We  did  not  intend 
to  love  him,  —  no,  no ;  we  tried  hard  to  hate  him  who  stood 
between  us  and  affluence  and  indolent  ease,  bu  t  he  conquered 
•.is  by  his  matchless  magnanimity,  and  shamod  our  ignoble  aims 
and  base  selfishness,  and  put  us  under  his  royal  feet ;  and  now 
we  would  rather  be  trampled  by  Ulpian,  our  king,  than  crowned 
by  any  other  man.  Let  us  plead  with  Christ  to  spare  the  only 
pilot  who  can  save  us  from  eternal  shipwreck." 

Lying  there  so  helpless  yet  defiant  in  her  desolation,  some 
subtle  thread  of  association,  guided,  perhaps,  by  the  invisible 
fingers  of  her  guardian  angel,  led  her  mind  to  a  favorite  couplet 
often  quoted  by  Dr.  Grey,  — 

u  I  heard  faith's  low,  sweet  singing,  in  the  night, 
And,  groping  through  the  darkness,  touched  God's  hand." 

If  the  painted  lips  in  the  aureola  on  the  wall  had  parted  and 
audibly  uttered  these  words,  they  would  scarcely  have  impressed 
her  more  powerfully  as  a  message  from  the  absent ;  and,  rising 
instantly,  the  orphan  prayed  in  chastened,  humbled  tones  fo« 
strength  to  be  patient,  for  ability  to  trust  God's  wisdom  and 
mercy. 

How  often,  when  binding  our  idolized  Isaacs  upon  the  altaij 
And,  meekly  submissive  to  what  appears  God's  inexorable  man 
dates,  we  unmurmuringly  offer  our  heart's  dearest  treasure,  the 
sacrificial  knife  is  stayed,  and  our  loathed  and  horrible  Moriahs, 
that  erst  smelt  of  blood  and  echoed  woe,  Become  hallowed 
Tekovah-jirehs,  all  aglow,  not  with  devouring  flames,  but  the 


UNTTL   I)EAT)I   US  DO  PART  1?3 

aUv.s°d  radiance  of  God's  benignant  smile,  and  musical  with 
thanksgiving  strains.  But  Abraham's  burden  preceded  Abra 
ham's  boon,  and  the  souls  who  cannot  patiently  endure  the  first 
are  utterly  unworthy  of  the  rapture  of  the  last. 

As  the  girl's  mind  gnjw  calmer  under  the  breath  of  prayer  — 
•which  stills  the  billows  of  human  passion  and  strife  as  tli* 
command  of  Jesus  smoothed  the  thundering  surf  of  Gonesarcth . 
—  she  recollected  that  she  had  absented  herself  from  the  sick- 
-oom  for  an  unusually  long  time.  How  long,  she  could  not 
conjecture,  for  the  face  of  the  clock  was  invisible,  and  she  had 
ceased  to  count  the  cuckoo-notes;  but  her  limbs  ached,  and  a 
fillet  of  fire  seemed  to  cirri  o  her  brow. 

With  a  lingering  gaze  upon  the  radiant  portrait,  she  quitted 
the  parlor,  and  went  wearily  back  to  renew  her  vigil. 

Hester  Dennison  was  cowering  over-  the  hearth,  spreading  hef 
bony  hands  towards  the  crackling  flames,  and,  walking  up  to  the 
mantelpiece,  Salome  touched  the  nurse,  and  whispered, — 

"  Hester,  what  did  the  doctor  say?      Is  there  any  change?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  The  woman  Laid  a  finger  on  her  lip,  and  glanced 
over  her  shoulder. 

There  was  only  the  subdued  light  of  a  shaded  lamp  mingling 
with  the  flicker  of  the  fire,  and,  as  Salome's  eyes  followed  those 
of  the  nurse,  they  rested  upon  the  figure  of  a  man  kneeling  at 
the  bedside,  and  1  <aning  his  head  against  the  pillow  where  Miss 
Jane's  white  hair  was  strewn  in  disorder. 

A  cry  of  delight,  which  she,  had  neither  die  prudence  nor 
power  to  repress,  ran.''  through  the  silent  chamber,  startling  its 

4  I  7  O  <_>  7  O 

inmates,  and  partially  arousing  the  invalid.  Salome  forgot  thai 
lif?  and  death  were  grappling  over  the  prostrate  fonv  ctf  tbo 
aged  wer.iau,  —  forgot  everything  but  the  supreme  oy  of  know- 
'ir-.g  that  her  idol  had  noy  been  rudely  shattered. 

Springing  to  the  bedside,  she  put  out  her  hands,  and  exclainvii . 
rapturously: 

"Oh.  Dr.  Grey!  Were  you  much  hurt?  Thank  God,  yo,» 
•  .r-;-  ali  ve  and  here  !  Indeed.  He  is  merciful  — 

•'Hush'     Have  you  no   prudence?     Quit  the  room,  9r  bs 


124  UJHTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

Dr.  Grey  lifted  his  haggard  face  from  the  pillow,  yati  th« 
light  showed  it  pallid  and  worn  by  acute  suffering,  while  a  strip 
of  plaster  pressed  together  the  edg^o  of  a  deep  cut  on  his  cheek 
His  clothes  glistened  with  sleet,  and  bore  stains  that  in  daylight 
were  crimson,  though  now  they  wera  or^y  ominously  dark. 

TLe  stern  tones  of  his  voice,  suppressed  though  it  was,  stimy 
die  girl's  heart;  and  she  answered,  in  a  pleading  whisper, — 

"Only  tell  me  that  you.  are  not  severely  injured.  Speak  DUO 
•dud  word  to  me  !  " 

"  I  am  not  dangerously  hurt.  Hush  1  Remember  life  hangs 
in  the  balance." 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Grey !  will  you  not  even  shake  hands  with  me, 
after  all  these  dreary  months  of  absence  ?  This  is  hard,  indeed." 

She  had  stood  at  his  side,  with  her  hands  extended  implor 
ingly  ;  and  now  he  moved  cautiously,  and,  silently  holding  up  one 
hand  swathed  in  linen  bands,  pointed  to  his  left  arm,  which  was 
tightly  splintered  and  bandaged. 

The  mute  gesture  explained  all,  and,  sinking  to  the  carpet, 
she  pressed  her  lips  to  the  linen  folds,  and  to  the  coat-sleeve, 
where  sleet  and  blood-spots  mingled. 

He  could  not  have  prevented  her,  even  had  he  desired  to  do 
so;  but  at  that  instant  his  sister  moaned  faintly,  and,  bending 
forward  to  examine  her  countenance,  he  seemed  for  some  minutes 
unconscious  of  the  presence  of  the  form  crouching  close  by  his 
side. 

After  a  little  while  he  looked  down,  sighed,  and  whispered, — 

"  My  child,  do  go  to  bed.  You  can  do  no  good  here,  and  too 
much  watching  has  already  unstrung  your  nerves.  Go  to  your 
room,  and  pray  that  God  will  spare  our  dear  Janet  to  us." 

Was  this  the  welcome  for  which  she  had  waited  and  longed  — 
af  which  she  had  dreamed  by  day  and  by  night  ?  Not  a  "ouck, 
Barely  a  brief,  impatient  glance,  and  a  few  reproving,  indifferent 
words.  She  had  rashly  dared  fate  to  cheat  her  out  of  this  long- 
anticipated  greeting,  and  the  grim,  grinning  crone  had  accepted 
the  challenge,  and  now  trimnphaiv.ly  snapped  her  withered 
Sngers  in  the  face  of  the  vanquished. 

When  rove^d  fruit  that  has  been  hungrily  watched  through 


UNTIL   D3ATU   UK  DO  PART.  ISfi 

the  slow,  tedious  process  of  ripening  finally  falls  rosy  *.nd 
mellow  into  eagerly  uplifted  lingers,  and  breaks  in  a  shower  of 
bitter  dust  jn  the  sharpened  and  fastidious  palate,  it  n.rely 
happens  that  the  half-famished  dupe  relishes  the  -a-scc ;  and. 
Salome  rose,  feeling  stunned  and  mocked. 

In  one  comer  of  the  room  stood  a  chintz-covered  lounge,  «Ji:sJ, 
creeping  to  it,  she  laid  herself  down;  and,  shading  her  feature* 
•with  her  hand,  looked  through  her  fingers  at  the  pale,  grieved  face 
of  the  anxious  brother.  Sometimes  he  stood  up,  studying  the 
placid  countenance  of  the  suiuTer,  aud  now  and  then  he  \valked 
softly  to  the  lire-place,  and  held  whispered  conferences  with 
Hester  relative  to  the  course  of  treatment  that  had  been  pur 
sued. 

But  everywhere  Salome's  eyes  foil  owed  him;  and  finally,  when 
he  chanced  to  glance  at  the  couch,  and  noticed  its  occupant 
whom  he  imagined  fast  asleep,  he  pointed  to  a  blanket  lying  on 
a  chair,  and  directed  Hester  to  spread  it  over  the  girlish  figure. 
The  thoughtful  act  warmed  the  orphan's  heart  more  effectually 
than  the  thick  woollen  cover ;  and  when  he  sat  down  in  an  e^isy- 
chair  close  to  the  bed,  and  withna  range  of  Salome's  vision,  she 
yielded  to  the  comforting  consciousness  of  his  presence.  And, 
while  her  lips  were  moving  in  thanks  for  his  preservation  and 
return,  exhausted  nature  seized  her  dues,  and  the  girl  fell 
asleep  and  dreamed  that  Dr.  Grey  stood  by  the  lounge,  aiul 
wl>  iajnred,  — 

"  No  etar  goes  down,  but  climbs  in  other  Bkiea ; 
The  rose  of  sunset  folds  its  glory  up 
To  burst  ayain  from  out  the  heart  of  dawn, 
And  love  Ls  never  lo.st,  though  hearts  run  waste, 
Aiad  sorrow  makes  the  chastened  heart  a  seer; 
The  deepest  dark  reveals  the  starriest  hope, 
Jkad  Faith  can  trast  her  heaven  behind  the  ve£w 


126  VNTIL  DEATH  (78  DO  PAB2 


CHAPTER  X. 

IJES,  Hester,  the  danger  is  past;  and,  if  tne 
(j  continues  favorable,  my  sister  will  soon  be  able  t» 
sit  up.  My  gratitude  prompts  me  to  erect  an  altai 
htut-,  where  the  mercy  of  God  stayed  the  Destroying  Ajigel, 
as  in  ancient  days  David  consecrated  the  threshing-floor  of 
Araunah." 

"  Dr.  Grey,  if  you  can  possibly  spare,  me  I  should  like  to  go 
back  to  town  to-day,  as  Dr.  Sheldon  has  sent  for  me  to  take 
charge  of  a  patient  at  his  Infirmary." 

"  You  ought  not  to  desert  me  while  I  am  so  comparatively 
helpless;  and  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you  remain,  at  least  unti) 
E  recover  the  use  of  my  hands." 

"  Miss  Salome  can  take  my  place,  and  do  all  that  is  really 
necessary." 

"  The  child  is  so  inexperienced  I  am  almost  afraid  to  trust 
her;  still  —  " 

"  Don't  speak  so  loud.  She  is  standing  behind  the  window- 
curtain." 

"  Indeed !  I  thought  she  left  the  room  when  I  entered  it. 
Of  course,  Hester,  I  will  not  detain  you  if  it  is  necessary  that 
you  should  be  at  the  Iniirmary;  but  I  give  you  up  very 
reluctantly.  Salome,  if  you  are  at  leisure,  please  come  and  see 
how  Hester  dresses  my  hand  and  arm,  for  I  must  rely  upon 
your  kind  services  when  she  leaves  us.  Notice  the  manner  in 
which  she  winds  the  bandages.  There,  Hester,  —  not  quite  so 
tight." 

"  Dr.  Grey,  I  never  had  an  education,  and  am  at  best  an 
ignorant,  poor  soul ;  therefore,  not  knowing  what  to  think  about 
many  curious  things  that  happen  in  sick-rooms,  I  should  l>e 
glad  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say  concerning  that  vision  of  your 
sister.  Rerne/nber,  she  saw  it  at  the  very  minute  that  the 
accident  happened.  I  don't  believe  in  spirit-rapping,  and  such 
gtuif  as  daneing  tables,  and  spinning  chairs,  and  pianos  j 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  127 

play   tunes  when  no  human  being  is  near  them ;    but  I  hav 
heard  and  seen  things  that  made  the  kair  rise  and  stand  on  my 
head." 

"  The  oircTimstance  that  occurred  three  days  since  is  certainJT 
rather  singular  and  remarkable,  but  by  no  means  inexplicable 
My  sister  knew  that  I  was  then  travelling  by  railroad,  —  that  1 
would,  without  some  unusual  delay,  reach  the  depot  at  u 
certain  hour,  and,  being  in  a  delirious  condition,  her  mind 
reverted  to  the  probability  of  some  occurrence  that  might  detain 
me.  Having  always  evinced  a  peculiar  aversion  to  railroads, 
wliich  she  deems  the  most  unsafe  method  of  travelling,  she  had 
a  feverish  dream  that  took  its  coloring  from  her  excited  appre 
hension  of  danger  to  me  ;  and  this  vision,  born  of  delirium,  was 
so  vivid  that  she  could  not  distinguish  phantom  from  reality. 
In  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  every  hundred  similar  ones,  the 
dream  passes  without  fulfilment,  and  is  rarely  recollected  or 
mentioned ;  but  the  hundredth  —  which  may  chance  by  some 
surprising  coincidence  to  seem  verified  —  is  noised  abroad  as 
supernatural,  and  carefully  preserved  among  '  well-authenticated 
spiritual  manifestations.'  If  I  had  escaped  injury,  the  freaks 
of  my  sister's  delirium  would  have  made  no  more  impression  on 
your  mind  than  the  ravings  of  a  lunatic ;  and,  since  I  was  so 
unfortunate  as  to  be  bruised  and  burned,  you  must  not  allow 
yourself  to  grow  superstitious,  and  attach  undue  importance  to  a 
circumstance  which  was  entirely  accidental,  and  only  startling 
because  so  exceedingly  rare.  Presentiments,  especially  when 
occurring  in  cases  of  fever,  are  merely  Will-o-the-wisps  floating 
about  in  excited,  diseased  brains.  While  at  sea,  and  constantly 
associated  with  sailors,  whose  minds  constitute  the  most  favor 
able  and  fruitful  soil  for  the  production  of  phantasmagoria  and 
'JH-nbkrie,  I  had  frequent  opportunities  of  testing  the  fallacy  and 
.-.b-.'urdity  of  so-called  'presentiments  and  forebodings.'  I  am 
ftfVaid  it  is  the  absence  of  spirituality  in  the  hearts  of  the  people, 
'-hat  drives  this  generation  to  seek  supernatu-alisrn  in  the  realm 
of  merely  normal  physics.  The  only  true  spiritualism  is  that 
which  emanates  from  the  Holy  Ghost,  —  conquers  sinful  im 
nulses,  and  makes  a  Christian  heart  the  temple  of  God." 


128  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PA11T. 

Here  Miss  Jane  called  Hester  into  the  adjoining  room;  an.i, 
turning  to  Salome,  Dr.  Grey  added, — 

"Notwithstanding  the  vaunted  destruction  of  the  ancient 
Hydra  of  superstition  by  the  darts  and  javelins  of  modcra? 
rationalism,  and  the  ponderous  hot  irons  of  empirics,  it  i» 
undeniably  true  that  the  habit  of  '  seeking  after  a  sign  '  survive! 
the  generation  of  Scribes  and  Pharisees  whom  Christ  rebuked: 
and  manifests  itself  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  by 
the  voracity  with  which  merely  material  phenomena  are  seized 
as  unmistakable  indications  of  preternatural  agencies.  The 
innate  leaven  of  superstition  triumphs  over  common  sense  and 
scientific  realism,  and  men  and  women  are  awed  by  coincidences 
that  reason  scouts,  but  credulity  receives  with  open  arms. 
Salome,  I  regret  exceedingly  that  1  am  forced  to  trouble  you, 
but  there  are  some  important  letters  which  J  wish  to  mail 
to-day,  and  you  will  greatly  oblige  me  by  acting  as  amanuensis 
while  I  dictate.  My  present  disabled  condition  must  apologize 
for  the  heavy  tax  which  1  am  imposing  upon  your  patience  a-iid 
industry.  Will  you  come  to  the  library  '{  " 

She  made  no  protestations  of  willingness  to  serve  him,  and 
confessed  no  delight  at  the  prospect  of  being  useful,  but  merely 
oowed  and  smiled,  with  an  expression  in  her  eyes  that  puzzled 
him. 

Seated  at  the  library-table,  and  writing  down  the  sentences 
that  he  dictated  while  pacing  the  floor,  Salome  passed  one  of 
che  happiest  hours  of  her  life ;  for  it  brought  the  blessed  assurance 
that,  for  the  present  at  least,  he  acknowledged  his  need  of  her. 

One  of  the  letters  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Gerard  Gran  villa,  an 
attache  of  the  American  legation  at  Paris,  and  referred  princi 
pally  to  financial  affairs ;  and  the  other,  directed  to  Murie! 
Manton,  contained  an  urgent  reqxiest  that  she  and  her  governess 
-js-ould  leave  New  York  as  speedily  as  possible  and  become 
inmates  of  his  sister's  house. 

When  she  had  folded  the  letters  and  sealed  them  with  his 
favorite  emerald  signet,  —  bearing  the  words,  'Fraiga*  tow 
Flcctes"  —  Salome  looked  up,  and  asked, — 

"  How  old  is  your  ward,  Miss  Manton  ?  " 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  121 

"  About  your  age,  —  though  sLe  looks  much  more  childish." 

*'  Pretty,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Wliy  '  of  course  '  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  in  novels  they  are  always  painted  as  pret  tr* 
**>  Persephone ;  and  tL  3  only  wards  I  ever  knew  happen  to  be 
fictitious  characters." 

"Novels  are  by  no  means  infallible  mirrors  of  nature,  and 
few  wards  are  as  attractive  as  my  black-eyed  pet.  Muriel  wil) 
be  very  handsome,  1  hope,  when  she  is  grown ;  but  now  she 
impresses  me  as  merely  sweet,  piquant,  and  pretty." 

"  Did  you  know  her  prior  to  your  recent  visit  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  her  father's  house  was  my  home  whenever  I  chanced 
to  be  in  New  York,  and  1  have  seen  her,  occasionally,  sroce  she 
was  a  little  girl.  For  your  sake,  as  well  as  mine,  1  am  {{lad  she 
will  reside  here,  because  I  hope  she  will  prove  in  every  respect 
a  pleasant  companion  for  you." 

"  Thank  you  ;  but,  unfortunately,  that  is  one  luxxiry  of  winch 
1  never  felt  the  need,  and  with  which,  permit  me  to  tell  you,  I 
can  readily  dispense.  I  have  liltlo  respect  for  women,  and  no 
desire  to  be  wearied  with  their  inane  garrulity." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  tapped  restlessly  with  the 
end  of  the  pen-staff  ou  the  morocco-covered  table. 

Dr.  Grey  looked  down  steadily  and  gravely  into  her  provot 
ingly  defiant  face,  and  replied  very  coldly, — 

"  Were  I  in  your  place,  I  think  I  should  jealously  guard  ray 
lips  from  the  hasty  utterance  of  sentiments  that,  if  unfeigned, 
ought  to  bring  a  blush  to  every  true  woman's  cheek ;  for  1  fear 
that  she  who  ha«  no  reject  for  her  own  sex  bid,«  fair  to  disgrac* 
it" 

A   scarlet  wave   rolled   up  from  throat  to  temples,  and   the 
lurking  yellow  gleamed  in  her  eyes,  but  the  bend  of  her 
and  curve  of  her  lips  did  not  relax. 

"Which  is  preferable,  hypocrisy  or  irreverence?*' 

"Both  are  unpai douable,  in  a  woman." 

"Where  is  your  vast  charity,  Dr.  Grey  P  " 

"  Busy  in  sheltering  that  lofty  ideal  c  f  genuine  female 
fection  wlich  you  seem  so  pertinaciously  ambitious*  to  Biillv 
degrade." 


K>0  UNITL  DEATH  US  DO  PAR.' 

"  You  are  harsh,  and  scarcely  courteous." 

"  You  will  never  find  me  less  so  when  you  vauatingly 
ouch  mournful  blemishes  of  character." 

"At  least,  sir,  I  am  honest,  and  show  myself  jus:  wliat  God 
saw  fit  to  allow  misfortune  to  make  me." 

"  Hush,  Salome  !  Do  not  add  impiousness  to  the  long  onta- 
iogue  of  your  sinful  follies.  I  hoped  that  there  was  a  favorabls 
change  in  you  before  I  left  home,  but  I  very  much  fear  that, 
instead  of  exorcising  the  one  evil  spirit  that  possessed  you,  you 
have  swept,  and  garnished,  and  settled  yourself  comfortably  with 
seven  new  ones." 

"And,  like  R.  Chaim  Vital,  you  come  to  pronounce  Nidui! 
ind  banish  my  diabolical  guests.  If  cauterization  cures  moral 
ulcers  as  effectually  as  those  that  afflict  the  flesh,  then,  verily, 
vou  intend  I  shall  be  clean  and  whole.  You  are  losing  patience 
with  your  graceless  neophyte." 

"  Yes,  Salome ;  because  forced  to  lose  faith  in  her  inclination 
und  capacity  to  sublimate  her  erring  nature.  Once  for  all,  let 
ime  say  that  habitual  depreciation  of  your  own  sex  will  not 
elevate  you  in  the  estimation  of  mine;  for,  however  fallen  you 
may  find  mankind,  they  nevertheless  realize  amid  their  degrada 
tion  that, — 

'  'Tis  somewhat  to  have  known,  albeit  in  vain, 

One  woman  in  this  sorrowful,  bad  earth, 
Whose  very  IOBS  can  yet  bequeath  to  pain 
New  faith  in  worth. '  " 

There  was  no  taunt,  no  bitterness,  in  his  voice ;  but  grievou* 
tiisappointment,  too  detp  for  utterance ;  and  the  girl  winced 
under  it,  though  only  the  flush  burning  on  cheek  and  brow 
attested  her  vulnerability. 

"Remember,  sir,  that  humanity  was  not  moulded  entirely 
*Vom  one  stratum  of  pipe-clay.  Only  a  few  wear  paint,  enamel 
ling,  and  gold  as  delicat3  costly  Sevres;  and,  while  the  majority 
are  only  coarse  pottery,  it  is  scarcely  kind  —  certainty  not 
in  dainty,  transparent  china,  belonging  to 


UNTIL  DEA'iH    US   DO  PART  13! 

palaces,  to  pity  or  denounce  the  humble  Delft  or  Wedgewood- 
ware  doing  duty  in  laborer's  cottages." 

"  Very  true,  my  poor  little  warped,  blotched  bit  of  perverse 
pottery ;  but  of  one  vital  truth  permit  me  to  assure  you :  the 
purity  and  elevation  of  our  race  depend  upon  preserving  inviolate 
in  the  hearts  of  men  a  belief  that  women's  natures  are  crystalline 
•is  that  celebrated  glass  once  made  at  Murano,  which  wan  so 
exceedingly  line  and  delicate  that  it  burst  into  fragments  if 
poison  was  poured  into  it." 

"Then,  obviously,  I  am  110  Venetian  gcblet;  else  long  ago  I 
should  have  shattered  vinder  the  bitter,  black  juices  poured  by 
fate.  It  seems  E  am  not  worthy  to  touch  the  lips  of  doges  ac  A 
grand  dukes;  but  let  them  look  to  it  that  some  day,  when  spent 
and  thirsty,  they  stretch  not  their  regal  hands  for  the  common 
clay  that  holds  what  all  their  costly,  dainty  fragments  can  never 
yield.  Nous  vcrron-s  !  '  The  stone  which  the  builders  rejected 
Las  become  the  head  of  the  corner.' " 

Dr.  Grey  had  resumed  his  walk,  but  the  half-sup} tressed, 
passionate,  protest,  whose  uuderswell  began  to  agitate  her  voice, 
arrested  kis  attention,  and  lit;  came  to  the  table  and  stood  closo 
to  the  orphan. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  my  headstrong  young  friend  ?  " 

She  made  Tip  answer;  but  her  elfish  eyes  sought  his,  am: 
fcraved  their  quiet  rebuke. 

"Tliis  is  the  last  opportunity  I  shall  oifer  you  to  tell  ma 
frankly  what  troubles  you.  Can  L  help  you  in  an^  way  ?  If  so, 
command  me." 

"Once  you  could  have  helped  me,  but  that  time  has  passed," 

"  Perhaps  not.     Try  me." 

"  It  is  too  late.      You  have  lost  faith  in  me." 

"No;  you  have  lost  all  faith  in  yourself,  if  you  ever  in- 
digged  any,  — •  which  I  very  much  doubt.  It  is  you  who  are  faith 
less  concerning  your  own  defective  character." 

"Not  1,  indeed!  1  know  it  rather  too  well,  either  to  wcrt  k 
aloft  for  adoration  or  to  irmuple  it  in  the  mire.  When  you: 
faith  in  m.i  expired,  mine  \v,is  born.  Do  you  recollect  tha» 
beautiful  painted  wimlrw  in  Lincoln  Cathedral  which  the  tiitt> 


132  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART. 

torod  fingers  of  an  apprentice  fashioned  out  of  the  despisoJ  bit* 
of  glass  rejected  by  the  fastidious  master-builder?  It  is  so 
vastly  superior  to  every  other  in  the  church  that  the  vanquished 
artist  could  not  survive  the  chagrin  and  mortification,  and  killed 
himself.  My  faith  is  very  strong,  that,  please  God,  I  shall  seta* 
day  show  you  similar  handiwork." 

"You  grow  enigmatical,  and  I  do  not  fully  understand  you  " 

"  No  ;  you  do  not  in  the  least  comprehend  me.  The  gill  whr.m 
rou  left  six  months  ago  has  changed  in  many  respects." 

"  For  better,  or  for  worse ?  " 

"  Perhaps  neither  one  nor  yet  the  other ;  but,  at  least,  sir, 
2ny  future  will  not  copy  fair  my  past.'  " 

"  Since  my  return,  I  have  noticed  an  alteration  in  your  deport- 
u^ent,  which,  I  regret  to  say,  I  cannot  consider  an  improvement ; 
bud  I  should  feel  inclined  to  attribute  your  restless  impatience 
to  nervous  disease  were  I  not  assured  by  your  appearance  thai 
you  are  in  perfect  health.  Remember,  that  quietude  of  manner 
constitutes  a  woman's  greatest  charm ;  and,  unfortunately,  you 
seem  almost  a  mimic  maelstrom.  But,  pardon  me,  I  did  not  intend 
to  lecture  you ;  and,  hoping  all  things,  I  will  patiently  wait  for 
the  future  that  you  seem  to  have  dedicated  to  sonni  special  object. 
I  will  try  to  have  faith  in  my  perverse  little  friend,  though  she 
sometimes  renders  it  a  difficult  task.  May  I  trouble  you  to 
Btamp  those  letters  ?  " 

He  could  not  analyze  the  change  that  passed  swiftly  across  her 
face,  nor  the  emotion  that  made  her  suddenly  clinch  her  haads 
till  the  rosy  nails  grew  purple. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  don't  you  believe  that  if  Judas  Iscariot  had  only 
rousted  die  temptation  of  the  thirty  pieces  of  silver,  and  stood 
by  his  master  instead  of  betraying  him,  that  his  position  in 
heaven  would  have  been  far  more  exalted  than  that  of  Peter,  or 
even  of  3  ohn  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  question  which  I  have  never  pondered,  and  am  not 
prepared  to  discuss.  Why  do  you  piopound  it?  " 

She  did  not  answer  immediately;  and,  when  she  spoke,  her 
glittering  eyes  softened  in  their  expression,  and  resembled  start 
rising  through  thf  gorden  mist  of  lingering  sunset  splendor. 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

"  God  gave  you  a  nobler  heart  than  mine,  and  left  it  an 
pleasant  matter  for  you  to  be  good ;  while,  struggle  as  I  may,  ] 
am  constantly  in  danger  of  tumbling  into  some  slough  of  iniquity, 
9r  setting  up  false  gods  for  my  soul  to  bow  down  to.  Because 
it  is  so  much  more  difficult  for  me  to  do  right  than  for  you,  it  ia 
Dnly  just  that  my  reward  should  be  correspondingly  greater." 

"  I  am  neither  John  nor  Petei,  nor  are  you  Judas;  and  only 
He  who  knows  our  mutual  faults  and  follies,  our  triumphs  and 
defeats  in  the  life-long  campaign  with  sin,  can  judge  us  equitably 
l  am  too  painfully  conscious  of  my  own  imperfections  not  to 
sympathize  earnestly  with  the  temptations  that  may  assail  you ; 
and,  moreover,  we  should  never  lose  sight  of  the  fact,  — 

'  What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 
But  know  not  what's  resisted. '  " 

"Dr.  Grey,  you  have  great  confidence  in  the  efficacy  of 
prayer  ?" 

"  Yes ;  for  without  it  human  lives  are  rudderless,  drifting  to 
Bpeedy  wreck  and  ruin." 

"  If  I  a^k  'i  favor,  will  you  grant  it  ?  " 

"  Have  I  over  denied  you  anything  that  you  asked  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  —  your  good  opinion." 

"  I  knew  that  had  you  really  desired  that,  you  would  long 
Eince  have  rendered  it  impossible  for  me  to  withhold  it.  But  to 
the  point,  —  what  is  your  petition  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  pray  for  me." 

"  Salome,  are  you  serious  ?     Are  you  really  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  Mournfully  in  earnest." 

"  Then  rest  satisfied  that  henceforth  you  will  always  ha^e  a 
place  in  my  piayers;  bxit  do  not  forget  the  greater  necessity  of 
graying  for  yourself.  Now,  tell  me  how  you  have  been  employed 
'•luring  my  long  absence.  Where  are  the  accumulated  exerciofii 
which  I  promised  to  examine  and  correct  when  I  returned?" 

"  Promised  whom  ?  " 

"You." 

"You  forget  that  I  did  not  see  you  the  day  you  left,  and  that 
you  did  not  even  bid  me  good-by." 
12 


134  UNTIL  DEATH  G'8  DO 

"  I  referred  to  your  French  exercises  in  a  brief  and  hurried 
rote  that  I  left  for  you." 

"  Left  where  ?     I  never  received  —  never  heard  of  it." 

"  I  laid  it  upon  your  plate,  where  I  supposed  you  would  cer 
tainly  notice  it  when  you  came  home  to  dinner." 

"  Why  did  not  you  give  it  to  Miss  Jane  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  she  was  not  in  the  room  when  I  wrote  it 
It  is  rather  surprising  that  it  escaped  your  observation,  aa  I  hud 
it  in  a  conspicuous  place." 

She  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  inform  him  that  on  that 
nnlucky  day  she  had  suddenly  lost  her  appetite,  and  failed  to  go 
to  the  table ;  and  now  she  put  her  fingers  over  her  eyes  to  conceal 
the  blaze  of  joyful  light  that  irradiated  them,  as  he  mentioned  the 
circumstance,  comparatively  trivial,  but  precious  in  her  estima 
tion,  since  it  was  freighted  with  the  assurance  that  at  least  he 
had.  thought  of  her  on  the  eve  of  his  unexpected  departure. 
What  inexpressible  comfort  that  note  might  have  contributed 
during  all  those  tedious  months  of  silence  and  separation ! 
While  she  sat  there  thinking  of  the  dreary  afternoon  when,  down 
in  the  orchard-grass  she  lay  upon  her  face,  Dr.  Grey  came 
nearer  to  her,  and  said, — 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  abandoned  your  French  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  devote  less  time  than  formerly  to  it." 

"  If  agreeable  to  you,  we  will  resume  the  exercises  as  soon  as 
I  can  wield  my  pen." 

"  If  you  can  teach  me  Italian,  I  should  prefer  it ;  especially 
since  I  have  learned  to  pronounce  French  tolerably  well  ?  " 

"  What  use  do  you  expect  to  have  for  Italian,  —  at  least,  at 
present  ?  French  is  much  more  essential." 

"  I  have  a  good  reason  for  desiring  to  make  the  change,  though 
JUKI  now  I  do  not  choose  to  be  driven  into  any  explanations." 

"  Pardon  me.  I  had  no  intention  of  forcing  your  confidence. 
WTien  in  Italy,  I  always  contrived  to  understand  and  make  myself 
understood ;  but  my  knowledge  and  use  of  the  language  is  rathei 
too  slip-shod  to  justify  my  attempting  to  teach  you  idioms,  hal 
lowed  as  the  medium  through  which  Dante  and  Ariosto  charmed 
the  world.  Miss  Dexter,  Muriel's  gcverness,  is  a  very  thorough 


UNTIL  DEATH  V  3  DO  PART.  135 

find  accomplished  linguist,  and  speaks  Italian  not  only  gracefully 
but  correctly.  I  have  already  engaged  her  to  teach  you  whatever 
ehe  may  deem  advisable  when  she  comes  here  to  live." 

"  You  are  very  kind.     Is  she  a  young  person  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  very  highly  cultivated  and  elegant  woman,  probablj 
twenty-five  or  six  years  old,  and  has  been  in  Florence  with 
Muriel." 

Involuntarily  and  unconsciously  the  orphan  sighed,  and  the 
rmscles  in  her  broad  forehead  tangled  terribly. 

"  Salome,  please  put  your  hand  in  the  right  pocket  of  my  vest, 
md  take  out  a  key  that  ought  to  be  there.  No,  —  not  that ;  a 
larger  steel  one.  Now  you  have  it.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to 
open  that  trunk  which  came  by  express  yesterday  (it  is  in  the 
upper  hall),  and  bring  me  a  box  wrapped  in  pink  tissue-paper? 
I  would  not  trouble  you  with  so  many  commissions  if  I  could  use 
ray  hands." 

Unable  longer  to  repress  her  feelings,  the  girl  exclaimed 
eagerly,  — 

"  If  you  could  imagine  what  pleasure  it  affords  me  to  rende~ 
you  the  slightest  service,  I  am  very  sure  you  would  not  annoy 
me  with  apologies  for  making  me  happy." 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned  to  the  library,  bearing  in  her 
hand  a  small  but  heavy  package,  which  she  placed  on  the  table 
before  him. 

"  Please  open  it,  and  examin  ^  the  contents." 

She  obeyed  him ;  and,  after  removing  the  wrapping,  found  a 
blue  velvet  case  that  opened  with  a  spring  and  revealed  a  parcel 
enclosed  in  silver  paper.  Dr.  Grey  turned  and  walked  to  the 
wrhulow ;  and,  as  Salome  took  oil  the  last  covering,  a  watch  and 
chiin  met  her  curious  gaze.  One  side  of  the  former  was  richly  and 
elaborately  chased,  and  represented  Kronos  leaning  on  his  scythe ; 
the  other  was  studded  with  diamonds  that  flashed  out  the  nams 
'*  Salome."  Astonishment  and  delight  sealed  the  orphan's  lip?, 
and,  in  silence,  far  more  eloquent  than  words,  she  bowed  ner  head 
upon  ;he  table.  After  a  few  moments  had  elapsed,  'Dr.  Grey 
attempted  to  steal  out  of  the  room ;  but,  being  obliged  to  pass 
closo  bj  her  chair,  she  put  out  her  hand  and  arrested  his 
ment. 


136  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  It  IB  the  most  beautiful  ivatch  I  have  ever  seen  ;  but,  oil,  sir  t 
how  shall  I  sufficiently  thank  you?  How  can  I  expsess  all  thai 
ia  throbbing  here  in  my  proud,  grateful  heart  ?  Although  the 
costly  gift  is  elegant  and  tasteful,  I  hold  still  more  precious  the 
foct  which  it  attests,  —  that  during  your  absence  you  thought  of 
me.  How  shall  I  begin  to  prove  my  gratitude  for  your  kind 
ness  and  generosity  ?  " 

"  Do  not  thank  me,  my  little  friend  ;  for,  indeed  I  require  no 
verbal  assurances  that  my  souvenir  is  kindly  received  and  appro- 
elated.  Wear  the  watch ;  and  let  it  continually  remind  you  no* 
only  of  the  sincerity  of  my  friendship,  but  of  the  far  niort-- 
important  fact  that  every  idle  or  injudiciously  employed  houi 
will  cry  out  in  accusation  against  us  in  the  final  assize,  when  we 
are  called  upon  to  render  an  account  of  the  distribution  of  th  *t 
invaluable  time  which  God  allows  us  solely  for  the  accomplish 
ment  of  His  work  on  earth.  It  is  so  exceedingly  difficult  for 
young  persons  to  realize  how  marvellously  rapid  is  the  flight  of 
time,  that  you  will,  I  trust,  forgive  me  if  I  endeavor  to  impress 
upon  you  the  vital  importance  of  making  each  day  fragrant  with 
the  burden  of  some  good  deed,  the  resistance  of  some  sore  temp 
tation,  some  service  rendered  to  God  or  to  suffering  humanity 
which  shall  make  your  years  mellow  with  the  fruitage  that  will 
entitle  you  to  a  glorious  record  in  the  golden  book  of  Abou  Ben 
Adhem's  angel.  Let  this  little  jewelled  monitress  of  the  ileeting, 
mocking  nature  of  time,  this  ingenious  toy,  whose  ticking  is  but 
the  mournful,  endless  knell  of  dead  seconds,  remind  you  that,  — 

' '  This  life  of  ours,  what  is  it  ?     A  very  few 
Soon  ended  years,  and  then  —  the  ceaseless  psalm. 
And  the  eternal  Sabbath  of  the  soul'  " 

As  Salome  looked  up  into  his  tranquil,  happy  face,  two  lean 
glided  across  her  cheeks,  and  fell  upon  the  pretty  bauble. 

"  Yoi~  will  find  a  key  in  the  case,  and  can  wind  it  up,  and  set 
it  by  the  clock  in  the  parlor." 

"Dr.  Grey,  are  you  willing  that  my  watch   si j all  bear  daity 
testimony  of  something  which  I  hold  far  above  i's  diamonds,  ~ 
that  you  have  faith  in  Salome  O-VI.-H'?  " 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  1)0    ~ART. 


13? 


"Perfectly  willing  that  you  should  mike  it  eloquent  with  aL 
friendly  utterances  and  sympathy.  Hester  has  bound  my  arm 
30  tightly  that  it  impedes  the  circulation,  and  is  very  painful. 
Please  loosen  the  bandage." 

She  complied  as  carefully  as  possible,  though  her  iiands 
trembled  ;  and,  when  the  ligature  had  been  comfortably  adjusted 
%nd  the  arm  restored  to  its  .sling,  she  stooped  and  pressed  her 
dps  softly  and  reverently  to  the  cold,  white  fingers,  that  protruded 
from  the  linen,  bands'  He  endeavored  ineffectually  to  prevent 
the  caress,  which  evidently  embarrassed  him  ;  but  she  left  two 
kisses  on  the  bruised  hand,  and,  snatching  her  watch  and  chain 
from  the  table,  hastily  quitted  the  room. 

In  after  years,  when  loneliness  and  disappointment  pressed 
heavily  upon  her  heart,  she  looked  back  to  the  three  weeks  that 
succeeded  Dr.  Grey's  return  as  the  halcyon  days,  as  the  cloud 
less  June  morning  of  her  life  ;  and,  in  blissful  retrospection; 
temporarily  found  Elysium. 

She  wrote  his  letters,  read  aloud  from  his  favorite  books, 
dressed  aud  bandaged  his  blistered  hand  and  fractured  arm,  and 
surrendered  her  heart  to  an  intense  and  perfect  happiness  such 
'AS  tdve  had  scarcely  dared  to  hope  would  ever  be  her  portion. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

RING  her  into  my  office.    Steady,  men  !    There  may  be 
broken  bones,  and  j; i rring  would  bo  torture.     Don't 
stumble  over  that  book  on  the  floor      Lay  her  here 
osi  the  sofa,  and  throw  open  the  blinds." 
"Dr.  Grey,  is  die  dead?" 

"  No,  ouly  badly  stunned  ;  and  the  contusion  uu  the  1  *cad  seems 
to  be  very  severe.      Stand  1. tick,  all  of  you,  and  give  her  air. 


When  did  it  happen?  " 
"  Akout  t  \vciity  T  dilutes 
12* 


She  is  a  si;ov,t,  heavy  womaji, 


138  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO   PART. 

and  we  could  not  walk  very  fast  with  sucxi  a  burden.     Ah  |  yo* 
intend  to  bleed  her  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  fear  nothing  else  will  relieve  her.  Mitchell,  hold  «Ls 
arm  for  me." 

"  How  did  she  receive  this  injury  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Mitchell,  who 
had.  been  holding  a  consultation  with  Dr.  Grey  relative  to  som* 
perplexing  case. 

"  Those  gray  ponies  which  we  were  admiring  a  half  hour  since, 
as  they  trotted  by  the  door,  took  fright  at  a  menagerie  procession 
coining  up  from  the  depot  to  the  Hippodrome,  —  and  ran  away. 
Tn  steering  clear  of  the  elephant,  who  was  covered  from  head  to 
foot,  and  certainly  looked  frightful,  the  horses  ran  into  a  mast 
of  lumber  and  brick  at  the  corner  of  Fountain  and  Franklin 
streets,  where  a  new  store  is  being  erected,  and  the  carriage  was 
jpset.  Unfortunately  the  harness  was  very  strong,  and  did  not 
give  way  until  the  carriage  had  been  dragged  some  yards  among 
tho  rubbish,  axd  one  of  the  horses  finally  floundered  into  a  bed 
of  mortar,  and  broke  the  traces.  The  driver  kept  his  hold  upon 
the  reins  to  the  last,  b\it  was  badly  bruised,  and  this  woman  was 
thrown  out  on  a  pile  of  bricks  and  granite-caps.  The  municipal 
authorities  should  prohibit  these  menagerie  parades,  for  the 
meekest  plough-horse  in  the  State  could  scarcely  have  faced  that 
band  of  musicians,  flanked  by  the  covered  elephant  and  giraffe, 
and  the  cages  of  the  beasts,  —  much  less  those  fiery  grays,  wlio 
seem  snufiing  danger  even  when  there  is  no  provocation.  " 

"  Who  is  this  woman  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  total  stranger  to  me,"  answered  Dr.  Grey,  bending 
down  to  put  bis  ear  to  the  heart  of  the  victim. 

A  bystander  seemed  better  informed,  and  replied, — 

"  She  is  a  servant  or  housekeeper  of  the  lady  who  lives  at 
•?  Solitude.'  But  here  cornea  the  driver,  limping  and  making 
vrry  faces." 

Robert  Maclean  approached  the  sofa,  and  his  scratched  and 
bleeding  face  paled  as  he  leaned  over  the  prostrate  form  of  hii 
mother. 

"  Oh,  doctors,  surely  two  of  you  can  save  her  !     For 
sake,  don't  let  her  die !     Does  nhe  breathe  ?  " 


VN1IL   DEATH   US  DO  PAftT.  133 

"  Yes,  the  bleeding  lias  already  benefited  her.  She  breathes 
regularly,  and  the  action  of  her  heart  is  better,  tit  down,  my 
man,  —  you  look  ghastly.  Mitchell,  give  him  some  brandy,  and 
BOW  up  that  gush  in  his  chock,  while  [  write  a  prescription." 

"Never  mind  me,  doctor;  only  save  my  poor  mother.  She 
locks  like  death  itself.  Mother,  mother,  it  is  all  over  now  1 
Come,  wake  Tip,  and  speak  to  me ! " 

lie  seized  one  of  her  cold  hands,  and  chafed  it  vigorously  be 
tween  both  of  his,  while  tears  and  blood  mingled,  as  they  dripped 
from  his  face  to  hers. 

"  Doctor,  tell  me  the  truth;  is  there;  any  hope?" 

"Certainly,  rny  friend;  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  she 
will  ultimately  recover,  though  you  no?d  not  be  surprised  if  she 
remains  for  some  hours  in  a  heavy  stupor.  Remember,  a  pile  of 
brick  is  not  exactly  a  feather  pillow,  and  it  may  be  some  time 
before  the  brain  recovers  from  the  severity  of  the  contusion. 
What  is  your  uarae?  " 

"  Robert  Maclean." 

"And  hpra?" 

"  Elsie  Maclean.  Poor,  dear  creature  !  How  she  labors  In 
aer  breathing.  Suppose  I  lift  her  head?" 

"  No;  let  her  rest  quietly,  just  as  she  is,  and  I  trust  all  will  be 
well.  Come  to  the  table,  and  allow  me  to  put  some  plaster  over 
that  cut  which  bleeds  so  freely.  Trust  me,  Maclean,  and  do  not 
look  KO  woe-begone.  I  am  not  deceiving  you.  There  may  be 
serious  internal  injuries  that  I  have  not  discovered,  but  this 
«tu:  or  is  not  alarming.  I  can  find  no  fractured  bones,  and  hope 
tlia  blow  on  the  head  is  the  most  troublesome  thing  we  shall  have 
to  contend  with." 

Dr.  Grey  proceeded  to  sponge  the  bruised  and  stained  face 
and,  hoping  to  divert  the  man's  anxious  thoughts,  said,  non 
ehalantly,  — 

"  I  believe  you  are  in  Mrs.  Gerome's  employment?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  at  '  Solitude '  ?  " 

"T  came  here,  sir,  and  bought  the  place,  -while  she  waa  !» 


140  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO 

Europe.  Ah,  doctor,  if  my  nr  ether  should  dv..-,  I  belie  re  i 
would  kill  my  mistress." 

"You  are  eld  family  servants?  " 

"  My  mother  took  her  when  she  was  twelve  hours  c  Id,  ari.l  haa 
never  left  her  since.  She  loves  Mrs.  Gerome  even  better  thaii 
tie  loves  me  —  her  own  flesh  and  blood.  I  can't  go  home  and  tel> 
my  mistress  I  have  nearly  killed  my  mother.  She  wovM  never 
endure  the  sight  of  i:ie  again.  Her  own  mother  died  the  day 
after  she  was  born,  and  she  has  always  looked  on  that  poor  dear 
soul  yonder  as  her  foster-mother. 

Robert  limped  back  to  the  sofa,  and,  seating  himself  on  a  chair, 
looked  wistfully  into  his  mother's  countenance ;  then  hid  his  face 
in  his  hands. 

"  Come,  be  a  man,  Maclean ;  and  don't  give  way  to  nervous 
ness  !  Your  mother's  condition  is  constantly  improving,  though 
of  course  it  is  not  so  apparent  to  you  as  to  me.  "What  has  been 
done  with  the  carriage  and  horses  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  carriage  is  a  sweet  pudding ;  and  the  grays  —  curses 
on  'em  !  —  are  badly  bruised.  One  of  them  had  his  flank  laid 
open  by  a  saw  lying  on  a  lumber-pile ;  and  I  only  wish  it  had 
eawed  across  the  jugular.  They  are  vicious  brutes  as  ever  were 
oitted,  and  it  makes  my  blood  run  cold  sometimes  to  see  their 
devilish  antics  when  Mrs.  Gerome  insists  on  driving  them. 
They  will  break  her  neck,  if  I  don't  contrive  to  break  theirs 
first." 

"I  should  judge  from  their  appearance  that  it  was  exceedingly 
unsafe  for  any  lady  to  attempt  to  control  them.  They  seem  very 
Sery  and  unmanageable.  What  has  been  done  with  them  ?  " 

"The  deuce  knows  ! — knocked  in  the  head,  I  trust.  I  asked 
trwc  men,  who  were  in  the  crowd,  to  take  them  to  the  livery- 
stable.  Mrs.  Gerome  is  not  afraid  of  anything,  and  one  of  hei 
few  pleasures  is  driving  those  gray  imps,  who  know  her  voice  s& 
•veil  as  I  io.  I  have  seen  them  put  up  their  narrow  ears  aad 
neigh  when  she  was  a  hundred  yards  off;  and  sometimes  she 
wraps  the  reins  around  her  wrists  and  quiets  them,  when  their 
eyes  look  like  balls  of  fire.  But  Ilarey  himself  could  not  have 
stopped  them  a  while  ago,  when  tlioy  determined  tc  run  ove* 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAR1:.  141 

that  menagerie  show.  My  unstress  will  say  it  was  my  fault,  anof 
she  will  stand  by  the  gray  satans  through  thick  and  thin.  Hist, 
doctor,  my  mother  groans !  " 

"  Would  it  not  be  best  for  you  to  go  home  and  acquaint  Mrs. 
Geroine  with  what  has  occurred  ?  " 

"I  would  not  face  her  without  my  mother  for — twenty  king 
doms  !  You  have  no  idea  how  she  loves  her  '  old  Elsie,'  and  I 
couldn't  break  the  news  to  her,  —  I  would  sooner  break  my 
head." 

"  This  is  not  a  proper  place  for  your  mother,  and  I  advise  you 
to  remove  her  to  the  hospital,  which  is  not  very  far  from  my 
office.  She  can  be  carried  on  a  litter." 

"  Oh,  my  mistress  would  never  permit  that !  She  will  let  nc 
one  else  nurse  my  mother ;  and,  of  course,  she  could  not  go  to  a 
public  place  like  a  hospital,  for  you  know  she  is  so  dreadfully 
shy  of  strangers." 

After  many  suggestions,  and  much  desultory  conversation,  it 
was  finally  decided  that  Elsie  should  be  placed  on  a  mattress,  in 
the  bottom  of  an  open  wagon,  and  carried  slowly  home.  A  care 
ful  driver  was  provided,  and  when  Dr.  Grey  had  seen  his  patient 
comfortably  arranged,  and  established  Robert  on  the  seat  with 
the  driver,  he  yielded  to  the  solicitations  of  the  son,  that  he 
would  precede  them  to  "  Solitude,"  and  acquaint  Mrs.  Geroine 
with  tne  details  of  the  accident. 

Although  ten  months  had  elapsed  since  the  latter  took  posses 
sion  of  her  new  home,  so  complete  had  been  her  seclusion  that 
she  remained  an  utter  stranger;  and,  when  visitors  flocked  from 
town  and  neighborhood  to  satisfy  themselves  concerning  tho 
minors  of  the  elegant  furniture  and  appointments  of  the  house, 
they  were  invariably  denied  admittance,  and  informed  that  since 
her  widowhood  Mrs.  Geroine  had  not  re-eucered  society. 

Curiosity  was  piqued,  and  gossip  wagged  her  hundred  busj 
tongues  over  the  tormenting  fact  that  Mrs.  Gerome  had  never 
darkened  the  church-door  since  her  arrival ;  and,  occasionally, 
when  she  rode  into  town,  wore  a  thick  veil  that  th  )roughlj 
•creenedher  features;  and,  instead  of  shopping  like  other  jeople 


142  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  f.UiT. 

madb  Elsie  Maclean  bring  the  articles  to  tie  carriage  for  h«* 
inspection. 

The  servants  seemed  to  hold  themselves  as  much  aloof  as  theij 
mistress,  and  though  Robert  and  his  mother  attended  service 
regularly  every  Sabbath,  they  appeared  as  gravely  silent  and 
tiEgregarious  as  Sobinxes.  The  ministers  of  various  denomina 
tions  called  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  stranger,  but  only  the 
clerical  cards  succeeded  in  crossing  the  threshold;  and,  while 
rumors  ^f  her  boundless  wealth  crept  teasingly  through  Newa- 
mongerdom,  no  one  except  Salome  Owen  had  yet  seen  the 
new-comer. 

Cases  of  books  and  pictures  occasionally  arrived  from  Europe, 
and  never  failed  to  stir  the  pool  of  gossip  to  its  dregs ;  for  the 
wife  of  the  express-agent  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Mrs.  Spiewell, 
whose  husband  was  pastor  of  the  church  which  Elsie  and  Robert 
attended,  and  who  felt  personally  aggrieved  that  the  Rev.  Charles 
Spiewell  was  not  welcomed  as  the  spiritual  guide  of  the  mistress 
of  "  Solitude." 

Finally,  a  morbid,  meddling  inquisitiveness  goaded  the  chatty 
little  woman  beyond  the  bounds  of  ministerial  decorum,  and, 
having  rashly  wagered  a  pair  of  gloves  that  she  woidd  gain 
an  entrance  to  the  parlors  (whereof  the  upholsterer's  wife  told 
marvellous  tales),  she  armed  herself  with  a  pathetic  petition  for 
aid  to  build  a  "  VvTidow's  Row,"  and,  with  a  subscription-list  for 
H,  "  Dorcas  Society,"  and  confident  of  ingress,  boldly  rang  the  bell. 
Unfortunately,  Elsie  chanced  that  day  to  be  on  post  as  sentinel, 
and,  though  she  immediately  recognized  the  visitor  as  the  niothei 
of  tKe  small  colony  of  Spiewells  who  crowded  every  Sunday 
morning  into  the  pew  of  the  pastor,  she  courtesied,  and  gave  tha 
stereo  typed  rebuff, — 

"Mrs.  Geronie  begs  to  be  excused." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  But  she  does  not  know  who  has  called,  or  she 
would  make  an  exception  in  my  favor.  I  am  your  minister's! 
wife,  a»d  must  really  see  her,  if  only  for  two  minutes.  Taka 
cay  card  to  her,  and  say  I  sail  on  important  business,  which  can- 
c,ot  fail  to  interest  her." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  143 

Not  a  muscle  of  Elsie's  grave  face  moved,  as  she  received  '  h« 
eard,  and  answered, — 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  madam,  but  Mrs.  Gerome  sees  no  visitors, 
and  my  orders  are  positive." 

Mrs.  Spiewell  bit  her  lip,  and  reddened. 

"  Then  take  these  papers  to  her,  and  ask  if  she  will  please  bs 
ao  goad  as  to  examine  their  claims  to  her  charity.  In  the  nceaja 
time  I  will  wait  in  the  parlor,  and  must  trouble  you  for  a  glays 
of  water." 

She  thrust  bhe  petitions  into  Elsie's  hand,  and  attempted  to 
slip  into  the  hall,  through  the  partial  opening  of  the  door  which 
the  servant  held  during  the  parley ;  but,  planting  her  massive 
frame  directly  in  the  way,  the  resolute  woman  effectually  barred 
entrance,  and,  pointing  to  an  iron  Icte-H-ttte  on  the  portico,  said, 
decisively,  — 

"  I  beg  pardon,  madam,  but  you  will  find  a  seat  there ;  and  I 
will  bring  the  water  while  Mrs.  Gerome  reads  your  letters.  If 
^ou  are  fatigued,  I  will  hand,  you  luncheon  arid  some  wine." 

Mortified  and  enraged,  Mrs.  Spiewell  grew  scarlet,  but  threw 
nerself  into  the  seat  designated,  resolved  to  snatch  a  glimpse  of 
the  interior  the  instant  the  servant  had  disappeared. 

Very  softly  Elsie  closed  and  securely  latched  the  door  on  the 
inside,  knowing  that  at  that  moment  her  mistress  was  sitting  in 
the  oriel  window  of  the  front  parlor. 

In  vain  the  visitor  tried  and  twisted  the  bolt,  and,  completely 
baffled,  tears  of  chagrin  moistened  her  eyes.  She  had  scarcely 
time  to  regain  her  seat,  when  Elsie  reappeared,  bearing  on  a 
handsome  salver  a  wine-glass,  silver  goblet,  and  an  eiegaxii 
basket  filled  with  cake. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome  presents  her  compliments,  and  sends  you  tLis. 
fifty  dollar  bill  for  whatever  society  you  represent." 

Too  thoroughly  discomfited  to  conceal  her  pique  and  indisjnation, 
Mrs.  Spiewell  snatched  letters  and  donation,  and,  without  linger 
ing  u.n  instant,  swept  haughtily  clo'vn  the  steps,  "shaking  off  the 
dust  of  her  feet"  against  "Solitude"  and  its  incorrigible  owner. 

An  innocent  impertinence  once  coldly  frustrated  soon  takes 
wnto  itself  a  Kting  and  bratding -irons,  and  thus,  v/1  ;it  was 


144  UXTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

originally  merely  idle  curiosity,  becomes  bitter  make*} %,  and 
henceforth  the  worthy  minister's  gossiping  wife  lost  no  oppor 
tunity  of  inveighing  against  the  superciliousness  of  the  stranger, 
and  of  insinuating  that  some  very  extraordinary  circumstances 
led  her  "to  fear  that  something  was  radically  wrong  about  that 
poor  Mrs.  Gerome,  for  troubles  that  could  not  be  poured  into 
she  sympathetic  ears  of  pastors  and  of  pastors'  wives  must  be  very 
dirk,  indeed." 

Whenever  the  name  of  the  new-comer  was  mentioned,  Mrs, 
Spiewell  compressed  her  lips,  shook  her  head,  and  shrugged  her 
round  shoulders ;  and,  of  course,  persons  present  surmised  that 
the  "minister's  lady"  was  acquainted  with  melancholy  facts 
which  charity  prevented  her  from  divulging. 

Many  of  the  grievances  and  ills  that  afflict  society  spring  not 
from  sinful,  envenomed  hearts,  but  from  weak  souls  and  empty 
heads ;  and  Mrs.  Spiewell,  who  sat  up  with  all  the  measle-stricken, 
teething,  sick  children  in  her  husband's  charge,  and  would  have 
felt  disgraced  had  she  missed  a  meeting  of  the  "  Dorcas  Society, 
or  of  the  "  Barefeet  Relief  Club,"  would  have  been  duly  shocked 
if  any  one  had  boldly  charged  her  with  slandering  a  womac 
whom  she  had  never  seen,  and  of  whose  antecedents  she  knew 
absolutely  nothing.  Verily,  it  is  difficult,  indeed,  even  for  "  the 
elect"  to  keep  themselves  "unspotted  from  the  world;"  and 
Zimmerman  was  a  seer  when  he  declared,  "Who  lives  with 
wolves  must  join  in  their  howls." 

Absorbed  by  professional  engagements,  or  fiscal  cares,  the 
gentlemen  of  a  community  are  rarely  interested  in  or  informed 
of  the  last  wreck  of  character  which  the  whirlpool  of  scandal 
atrewa  on  the  strand  of  society ;  but  vague  rumors  relative  to 
Mrs,  Gerome's  isolation  had  penetrated  even  into  the  quie; 
precincts  of  Dr.  Grey's  sanctum,  and  consequently  invested  hia 
present  mission  with  extraneous  interest. 

For  the  first  time  since  her  arrival  he  approached  the  confines 
of  her  residence,  and,  as  he  threw  the  reins  over  the  dashboard 
of  bis  buggy  and  stood  under  the  lofty  old  trees  that  surrounde<j 
rlie  ho  ise,  be  paused  to  admire  the  beauty  of  the  grounds,  the 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  1)0    PART.  14.*> 

Bowing  of  some  statues  and  pot-plants  on  a  neigliboring  mound, 
nu<i  the  far-stretching  slicen  of  the  rippling  sea. 

No  living  tiling  was  visible  except  a  golden  pheasant  and 
scarlet  ilaiuingo  strutting  along  tlie  stone  terrace  at  the  foot  of 
the  Istwn,  and  silence  and  repose  seemed  brooding  over  nousr 
end  yird ;  when  suddenly  a  rapid,  passionate,  piano-prelude 
e;..uoto  the  stillness  till  the  air  appeared  to  throb  and  quiver,  ar.ci 
e  thrillingly  sweet  yet  intensely  mournful  voice  sang  tlio  wail  ins; 
sltiiius  of  Addio  del  Passato. 

The  indescribable  yet  almost  overwhelming  pathos  of  the 
tones  aifected  Dr.  Grey  much  as  the  tremolo-stop  in  some  organ- 
overture  in  a  dimly-lighted  cathedral ;  and,  as  the  singer  seemed 
to  pour  her  whole  aching  heart  and  wearied  soul  into  the  con 
cluding  "Ah!  tutto-tutto  Jinil "  he  turned,  and  involuntarily 
followed  the  sound,  like  one  in  a  dream. 

The  front  door  was  closed ;  but  the  sash  of  the  oriel  window 
had  been  raised,  and  through  the  delicate  lace  curtains  that  were 
swaying  in  the  salt  breath  of  ocean  he  could  see  what  passed  in 
the  parlor.  A  woman  sat  before  the  piano,  running  her  snowy 
fingers  idly  across  the  keys,  now  striking  fortissimo  a  wild 
stormy  fugue  theme,  and  then  softly  evoking  a  subtle  minor 
chord  that  seemed  the  utterance  of  some  despairing  spirit 
breathing  it.i  last  prayer  for  peace. 

Her  Marie-Louise  blue  dress  was  girded  at  the  waist  by  a  belt 
end  buckle  of  silver,  and  the  loose  sleeve  of  the  right  arm  was 
looped  and  pinned  up,  showing  the  dimpled  elbow  and  daintily 
roiinded  wrist  encircled  by  the  jet  serpent.  Around  her  throat 
she  had  carelessly  thrown  a  lace  handkerchief,  and,  from  the 
mass  of  hair  that  seemed  tiny,  snow-capped  waved,  a  cluster  of 
blue  nemophila  leaned  down  to  touch  the  white  forehead  beneath, 
and  peep  at  the  answering  blue  gleams  in  the  large,  shining 
feteely  eyes.  Her  fingers  strayed  listlessly  into  a  Nocturne;  but 
from  the  dreamy  expression  of  the  face,  upraised  to  gaze-  at  th<: 
busts  on  the  brackets  above,  it  was  evident  tha.t  her  thoughts 
ha-d  wandered  far  away  from  Addio  del  jPassato,  and  were 
treading  the  drift-strewn  strands  of  melancholy  memory. 

Presently  she  rose,  walked  twice  across  the  room,  and  camr 
13 


146  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DU  PART. 

back  to  an  etagere  where  stood  an  azure  Bohemian  glass  vase, 
supported  by  silver  Tritons,  and  filled  with  late  blue  hyacinths 
and  early  pancratiums. 

Bending  her  regal  head,  she  inhaled  the  iringled  perfumea, 
worthy  of  Sicilian  or  Cyprian  meadows ;  and,  while  her  blight 
fingers  toyed  with  the  fragile  petals,  a  proud  smile  lent  its  sad 
light  to  the  chill  face,  and  she  said  aloud,  as  if  striving  to  coar 
fort  herself,  — 

"  'Not  the  ineffable  stars  that  interlace 
The  aznre  canopy  of  Zena  himself 
Have  surer  sweetness  than  rny  hyacinths 
When  they  grow  blue,  in  gazing  on  blue  heaven, 
Than  the  white  lilies  of  my  rivers,  when 
In  leafy  spring  Selene's  silver  horn 
Spills  paleness,  peace,  and  fragrance.'  " 

With  a  heavy  sigh  she  tiirned  away,  and  sat  down  in  the  rear 
room,  near  the  arch,  where  an  easel  now  stood,  containing  a 
large,  unfinished  picture ;  and,  taking  her  ivory  palette  and 
brushes,  she  began  to  retouch  the  violet  robe  of  one  of  the 
figures. 

Dr.  Grey  had  seen  more  beautiful  women  among  the  gilded 
pillars  and  frescoes  of  palaces,  and  amid  the  olives  and  vine 
yards  of  Parthenope  ;  but  in  Mrs.  Gerorne  he  found  a  fascinating 
mystery  that  baffled  analysis  and  riveted  his  attention.  Neither 
young  nor  old,  she  had  crowned  herself  with  the  glories  of  both 
seasons,  and  seemed  some  sweet,  dewy  spring,  wrapped  in  the 
snows  and  frozen  in  the  icy  garb  of  winter. 

He  had  expected  to  meet  a  middle-aged  person,  habited  in 
"widows'  weeds,  and  meek  from  the  severe  scourging  of  a  recent 
and  terrible  bereavement;  but  that  anomalous  white  face  and 
proud,  queenly  form  were  unlike  all  other  flesh  that  his  ke«n 
eyes  had  hitherto  scanned ;  and  he  regarded  her  as  curiously  as 
he  would  have  examined  some  abnormal-looking  specimen  of 
nerves  and  muscles  laid  upon  the  marble  slab  of  a  dissecting- 
table. 

Recollecting  suddenly  that,  if  he  did  not  present  himself,  th« . 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART.  H7 

*ragon  wnuJd  arrive  before  he  had  accoruplisued  the  object  of  Ma 
visit,  he  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket,  and,  stepping  over  the  low 
sill  of  the  oriel  window,  advanced  to  tho  arch. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  sat  with  her  back  turned  towards 
him,  and  way  apparently  Absorbed  in  putting  purple  shadows 
iiii3  the  folds  of  a  mantle  that  hung  from  the  shoulders  :>f  » 
ku.~v>ling  figure  on  the  canvas. 

Face-downward  on  an  ottoman  near,  lay  a  beautiful  copy  of 
Owen  Meredith's  poems ;  and,  after  a  few  seconds,  she  paused, 
brush  in  hand,  and,  taking  up  the  book,  slowly  read  aloud  — 
glancing,  as  she  did  so,  from  page  to  picture, — 

' ' '  Then  I  could  perceive 

A  glory  pouring  through  an  open  door, 

And  in  the  light  five  women.     I  believe 

They  wore  white  vestments,  all  of  them.     They  were 

Quite  calm ;   and  each  still  face  unearthly  fair, 

Unearthly  qniet.     So  like  statues  all, 

Waiting  they  stood  without  that  lighted  hall ; 

And  in  their  hands,  like  a  blue  star,  they  held 

Each  one  a  silver  lamp. '  " 

Standing  immediately  behind  her,  Dr.  Grey  saw  that  she  had 
seized  the  weird  "  Vision  of  Virgins,"  and  was  putting  into 
pigment  that  solemn  phantasm  of  the  poet's  imagination  where 
five  radiant  women  were  passing  to  their  reward,  —  and  five, 
wailing  over  flickering,  dying  lamps,  were  huddled  helplessly  and 
hopelessly  under  a  black  and  starless  midnight  sky.  Although 
unfinished,  there  was  marvellous  power  in  the  picture,  and  the 
sickly  gleam  from  the  expiring  wicks  made  the  surrounding 
gloom  more  supernatural,  like  the  deep  shadows  skulking  behind 
the  lurid  glare  ir  some  old  Flemish  painting. 

He  saw  also  that  she  had  followed  the  general  outline  of  the 
poetn ;  but  one  of  the  faces  was  so  supreme  in  its  mute  anguish 
that  he  thought  of  Reni's  "Cenci,"  and  ~>f  a  wan  ".AJcestis," 
and  a  desperate  "  Cassandra,"  he  had  seen  at  Rome ;  and,  is 
oonaparison,  the  description  of  the  poet  seemed  almost  vapid, — • 


148  UNTIL   DEATH    :S  DO  PART. 

"  One  as  still  as  death 

Hollowed  her  hands  about  her  lamp,  for  fear 
Some  motion  of  the  midnight,  or  her  breath, 
Should  fan  out  the  last  flicker.     Rosy  clear 
The  light  oozed  through  her  fingers  o'er  her  face. 
There  was  a  ruined  beauty  hovering  there 
Over  deep  pain,  and  dasht  with  lurid  grace 
A  waning  bloom. " 

The  room  with  its  costly,  quaint,  and  tasteful  furniture,. - 
the  solitary  and  singularly  beautiful  woman ;  the  wonderful 
picture,  growing  beneath  her  hand ;  the  solemn  silence,  broken 
only  ty  the  deep,  hollow  murmur  of  the  dimpling  sea  that  sent 
its  shimmer  in  at  the  window  to  meet  the  painted  shimmer  in  a 
marine  view  framed  on  the  wall,  —  all  these  wove  a  spell  about 
the  intruder  that  temporarily  held  him  a  mute  captive. 

The  artist  laid  a  delicate  green  on  the  stripped  and  scattered 
leaves  from  a  wreath  of  Syrian  lilies  lying  on  the  marble  steps 
of  the  bridegroom's  mansion,  and  once  more  she  read  a  passage 
from  the  open  book,  — 

"'  Then  I  beheld 

A  shadow  in  the  doorway.     And  One  came 
Crown' d  for  a  feast.     I  could  not  see  the  Face. 
The  Form  was  not  all  human.     As  the  flame 
Streamed  over  it,  a  presence  took  the  place 
With  awe.     He.  turning,  took  them  by  the  hand 
And  led  them  each  up  the  white  stairway,  and 
The  door  closed, '  " 

The  sound  of  her  voice,  low  but  clear,  and  burdened  with  a 
sadness  that  no  language  could  exhaust  or  interpret,  thrilled  I>r. 
Ctrey's  steady  nerves  as  no  music  had  ever  done,  and,  stepping 
forward,  he  held  out  his  card,  and  said,  — 

"  M  rs.,  Gerorae,  a  painful  necessity  has  compelled  me  to  in 
trude  upon  your  seclusion,  and  I  trust  you  will  acquit  mo  of 
impertinence." 

Rising,  she  fronted  him  with  a  frown  severe  as  that  which 
clouded  Artemis'  brow  when  profane  eyes  peered  through  myrtle 
boughs  into  her  sacred  retreat,  and  the  changed  voice  uoemed 
thick  with  bristling  icicles. 


UNTIL  DEATH    US  J)0  PART.  14S 

"  Your  business  must  be  imperative>  indee  1,  if  it  warrants  thia 
Lntmsion.  What  servant  admitted  you  ?  " 

•  None,  I  came  in  haste,  and,  seeing  the  window  open, 
entered  without  ringing.  Madam,  my  card  will  explain  nijr 
urrand." 

"lias  Dr.  Grey  an  unpaid  bill?  I  was  not  aware  tiie  servant 
had  needed  your  services;  but  if  so,  present  your  claim  to  Robert 
!\laclean,  my  agent." 

"Mrs.  Gerome  owes  me  nothing,  and  1  oame  here  reluctantly 
and  iji  compliance  with  Robert  Maclean's  request,  to  inform  her 
of  an  accident  which  happened  this  afternoon  while  —  " 

lie  paused,  awed  by  the  change  that  swept  over  her  counte 
nance,  tilling  it  with  horrible  dread. 

"  Those  gray  horses  ?  " 

"  Y*s,  madam." 

"  Not  Elsie'?  Oh  !  don't  tell  me  that  my  dear  old  Elsie  was 
mangled  !  Hush  !  1  will  not  hear  it !  " 

Palette  and  brushes  fell  upon  the  carpet,  and  she  wrung  her 
fingers  until  the  diamond-eyed  asp  set  its  blue  fangs  in  her  cold 
flesh. 

"  Robert  was  merely  bruised,  but  his  mother  was  very  badly 
injured,  and  is  still  insensible.  Every  precaution  has  been  taken 
*XD  counteract  the  effect  of  the  severe  blow  on  her  head,  and  1 
hope  that  after  an  hour  or  two  she  will  recover  her  conscious 
ness.  Robert  is  bringing  her  home  as  carefully  as  possible,  and 
you  may  expect  them  momentarily.  Only  his  urgent  entreaties 
that  I  would  precede  him  and  prepare  you  for  the  reception  of  his 
mother  could  have  induced  me  to  waive  ceremony  ami  thrust 
myself  into  the  presence  of  a  lady  who  seems  little  disposed  to 
pardon  the  apparent  presumption  of  my  visit.'' 

She  evidently  did  not  heed  his  words,  and,  suddenly  claspinp 
her  hands  across  her  forehead,  she  said,  bitterly, — 

"Coward!  why  can't  you  speak  out,  and  tell  me  that  tho 
corpse  wil1  soon  be  here, and  a  coiT'm  must  v>e  c.'dered?  This  is 
die  last  h.ow  !  Surely,  God  will  !<vi.  me  ahr.ie,  i.ow  ;  for  there  is 
nothing  more  that  He  can  send  to  uiliot  me.  Oh.  Elsie,--  my 
«oie,  comfort  !  The  only  ens:  who  ••>.  er  loved  u:o  !  " 
l.'l  * 


1!M>  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

A  bluish  pallor  settled  about  her  mouth,  and  Dr.  Grey  shud 
dered  as  he  looked  into  the  dry,  defiant  eyes,  so  beautiful  in  fom. 
and  color  but  so  mournfully  desperate  in  their  expression. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  your  servant  is  neither  dead  nor  dying,  and  1 
have  told  you  the  worst.  Down  the  road  I  can  see  the  wagon 
Doming  slowly,  and  1  would  advise  you  to  call  the  household 
together,  in  order  to  assist  in  lifting  Elsie,  who  is  very  stout  »n-i 
heavy.  Caliu  yourself,  madam,  and  trust  your  favorite  servant 
to  my  care." 

"  Servant !  Sir,  she  is  mother,  father,  husband,  friends,  — 
all,  —  everything  to  me !  She  is  the  only  human  being  who 
cares  for,  or  understands,  or  sympathizes  with  me,  —  and  1  could 
not  live  without  her.  Oh,  sir,  do  not  ask  me  to  trust  you  !  The 
time  has  gone  by  when  I  could  trust  anybody  but  Elsie.  You 
are  a  physician,  —  you  ought  to  know  what  should  be  done  for 
her;  and,  Dr.  Grey,  if  you  have  any  pity  in  your  soul,  and  any 
skill  in  your  profession,  save  my  old  Elsie's  life  !  Dr.  Grey  • —  " 

She  paused  a  few  seconds,  and  added,  in  a  whisper, — 

"  If  she  dies,  I  am  afraid  I  might  grow  desperate,  and  commit 
what  you  happy  people  call  a  crime." 

He  felt  an  unwonted  moisture  dim  his  eyes,  as  he  watched  the 
delicate  face,  white  as  the  hair  that  crowned  it,  and  wondered  if 
the  wide,  populous  world  could  match  her  regal  form  and  perfect 
features. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  1  think  I  can  promise  that  Elsie  will  recover 
from  her  injuries ;  but  a  prayer  for  her  safety  would  bring  yon 
more  comfort  than  my  feeble  words  of  assurance  and  encourage 
raent.  The  mercy  of  God  is  surer  than  the  combined  medicul 
skill  of  the  universe.1' 

"The  mercy  of  God !  •'  .ohe  repeated,  with  a  gesture  of  soorn 
and  impatience.  "No,  no !  God  set  his  face  like  a  flint  agiiiuirt 
sue,  long,  long  ago,  and  I  do  not  mock  myself  by  offering  prayers 
that  only  call  down  smitings  upon  me.  Seven  years  since  1 
prayed  my  last  prayer,  which  was  for  speedy  death;  and,  from 
that  hour,  I  seem  to  have  taken  a  new  lease  on  life.  Now  I 
stand  still  and  keep  silent,  and  I  hoped  that  God  had  forgotten 
mo." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  LO  PART.  J51 

She  cohered  her  face  with,  her  hands  and  Dr.  Grey  drew  a 
close  to  her  and  endeavored  to  make  her  sit  down,  but  shft 
j  existed  and  shrank  from  his  touch  on  her  arm. 

"  Madam,  the  wagon  has  stopped  s,t  the  door.  Will  yoi  direct 
your  servants,  or  shall  I  ?  " 

"  If  she  is  not  dead,  tell  Robert  to  carry  her  into  my  roaim 
Oh,  Dr.  Grey,  you  will  not  let  her  die !  " 

As  she  looked  up  imploringly  into  his  calm,  noble  face,  ah.? 
met  his  earnest  gaze,  brimming  with  compassion  and  sympathy, 
and  her  lips  and  chin  quivered. 

"  Trust  your  God,  and  have  faith  in  me." 

He  went  out  to  assist  in  removing  his  patient,  and  when  they 
had  carried  the  mattress  and  its  occupant  into  the  room  opposite 
the  parlor  and  laid  it  on  the  carpet  near  the  window,  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  observing  a  favorable;  change  in  Elsie's  condition. 
While  he  stood  by  a  table  preparing  souie  medicine,  Robert  stole 
up,  and  asked: 

"Do  you  notice  any  improvement?  She  groaned  twice  OB 
the  road,  and  once  I  am  sure  she  opened  her  eyes." 

"  Yes ;  I  think  that  very  soon  she  will  be  able  to  speak,  fo . 
her  pulse  is  gaining  strength  every  hour." 

"  How  did  my  mistress  take  it  ?  " 

"  She  was  much  shocked  and  grieved.  Maclean,  where  are 
her  friends  and  relatives?  " 

There  was  no  reply,  and,  glancing  over  his  shoulder  to  repeat 
the  inquiry,  Dr.  Grey  saw  Mrs.  Gerorne  leaning  against  the- 
door. 

"Robert,  have  you  killed  her?" 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am  !    She  is  doing  very  well,  the  doctor  says." 

She.  crossed  the  room,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  mat- 
tress,  talcing  one  of  the  large  brown  hands  in  both  of  hers  and 
bending  her  face  over  the  pillow. 

"  Elsie !   mother !     Elsie,  speak  to  your  poor  child  !  " 

That  wailing  voice  pierced  the  stupor,  and  Dr.  Grey  wa» 
surprised  to  see  the  woman's  eyes  unclose  and  rest  wonderingly 
upon  the  countenance  hovering  aver  her. 


152  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  My  dear  Elde,  don't  you  know  me  ? 

"  Yes,  my  bairn.     What  ails  you  ?  " 

She  spoke  indistinctly,  and  shut  her  eyes  once  mare,  aa  if 
sxhausted. 

"If  she  was  in  her  coffin,  1  verily  believe  she  would  ris«,  if 
she  heard  your  voice  calling  her,"  said  Robert,  wiping  away  th? 
icars  of  joy  that  trickled  across  his  sunburnt  cheeks. 

Dr.  Grey  stooped  to  put  his  finger  on  Elsie's  pulse,  and  Mru 
Gerome  threw  herself  down  on  the  carpet,  and  buried  her  face 
in  the  pillow,  where  her  silver  hair  mingled  with  the  grizzkxi 
locks  that  straggled  from  beneath  the  old  woman's  torn  iact 
oap. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ilELL,  Ulpian,  are  you  convinced  that  *  Solitude '  is  ait 
unlucky  place,  and  that  misfortune  dogs  the  steps  of 
all  who  make  it  a  home  ?  Once  you  laughed  at  my 
4  superstition.'  "What  think  you  now,  my  wiseacre  ?  " 

"  My  opinion  has  not  changed,  except  that  each  time  I  see 
the  place  I  admire  it  more  and  more ;  and,  were  it  for  sale,  I 
should  certainly  purchase  it." 

"  Not  with  the  expectation  of  living  there?  " 

"  Most  assuredly." 

Miss  Jane  had  susj^nded  for  a  moment  the  swift  clicking  o£ 
her  knitting-needles  in  crder  to  hear  her  brother's  reply,  aa-.d 
now  she  rejoineu,  almost  sharply, — 

"  You  will  do  no  such  silly  thing  while  there  is  breath  left  iii 
ivy  l>ody  to  protest,  or  to  persuade.  Poch !  you  only  talk  to 
tease  me ;  for  five  grains  of  observation  and  common  sense  will 
teach  you  that  there  is  a  curse  hanging  over  that  old  piratical 
aest." 

"  Dear  Janet,  when  headstrong  drivers  persist  in  carrying  9 
pair  of  fiery,  vicious  horses  into  the  midst  of  a  procession  of 


UNTIL  DEATH  Uti  L-O  PART.  toa 


mid  beasts  that  wouki  have  scared  even  your  auuet  du.1  Dapples 
out  of  their  lazy  jog-trot,  it  is  not  at  all  surprising  that 
snapped  harness,  broken  carriage,  torn  flesh,  and  strained  joint* 
should  attest  the  folly  of  the  experiment.  The  accident  occurred 
rot  far  from  my  office,  which  is  haunted  by  nothing  worse  than 
I  :  ur  harmless  sailor-boy." 

:;  All  very  fine,  my  blue-eyed  oracle,  but  I  notice  that  the 
horses  belonging  to  'Solitude'  were  the  only  ones  that  made 
mischief  and  came  to  grief;  and  I  promise  you  that  all  the 
haw.sers  in  Gosport  Navy-  Yard  will  never  drag  me  inside  the 
doomed  place.  How  is  your  patient?  If  you  expect  her  to 
g^c  well,  you  had  better  take  a  'superstitious'  old  woman's 
j'junsel,  and  send  her  away  from  that  valley  of  Jehoshaphat." 

"  I  am.  very  sorry  to  tell  you  that  she  was  more  seriously  hurt 
than  I  was  at  first  inclined  to  believe.  Her  spine  was  so  badly 
injured  that  although  there  is  no  danger  of  immediate  death,  she 
will  never  be  able  to  sit  up  or  walk  again.  She  may  linger 
many  months,  possibly  years;  but  must,  as  long  as  life  lasts, 
remain  a  bed-ridden  cripple.  It  is  one  of  the  saddest  cases  I 
have  had  to  deal  with  during  nay  professional  career;  and  Elsie 
Maclean  bears  her  sui"^  rings  with  such  noble  fortitude,  such 
genuine  Christian  patience;,  coupled  with  stern  Scotch  heroism, 
that  I  cannot  withhold  my  admiration  and  earnest  sympathy. 
Yesterday  I  held  a  consultation  with  four  physicians,  and,  when 
we  told  her  the  hopelessness  of  her  condition,  she  received  th« 
announcement  without  even  a  sigh,  and  seemed  only  to  dread 
that  instead  of  an  assistant  she  might  prove  a  burden  to  her 
mistress." 

"She  appears  to  be  t  wry  important  personage  in  the 
household." 

*'Yf>s;  she  is  Mrs.  Gerome's  nurse,  housekeeper,  and  coun 
sellor,  —  and  I  have  rarely  seen  such  warm  aflection  us  exista 
between  them.  I  wish,  Janet,  that  you  were  strong  enough  to 
call  at  'Solitude,'  for  its  mistress  leads  a  lonely,  secluded  life, 
and  must  require  some  society." 

"But,  Ulpian,  I  hear  strange  things  about  her,  a.:u3  it  is 
hinted  that  she  is  deransec  ' 


,f>4  VNTIL  DEATH   Iti   PO  PART. 

"Your  knowledge  of  human  nature  should  teach,  you  how 
little  truth  is  generally  found  in  the  floating  cm  dite  of  social 
circles." 

"  How  long  has  she  been  widowed  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  presume  that  her  affliction  has  not  been 
racy  recent,  as  she  wears  no  mourning." 

"  If  she  has  discarded  widow's  weeds,  and  dresses  in  colors, 
why  should  she  taboo  society,  and  make  herself  the  town-talk 
by  refusing  to  receive  even  the  clergy  and  their  wives  ?  She 
has  lived  here  ten  months,  and  I  understand  from  Dolly  Spie- 
well  that  not  a  soul  has  ever  seen  her.  Of  course  such 
eccentricities  provoke  gossip  and  tickle  the  tongue  of  scandal, 
*\nd  if  the  world  can't  find  out  the  real  cause  of  such  conduct, 
it  very  industriously  sets  to  work  and  manufactures  one." 

"  Which,  in  my  humble  opinion,  constitutes  a  piece  of  un 
warrantable  impertinence  on  the  part  of  meddling  Mrs.  Grundy 
The  world  might  be  more  profitably  engaged  in  mending  its  own 
tortuous  and  mendacious  ways,  and  allowing  poor  solitary 
•wretches  to  fondle  their  whims  and  caprices.  If  Mrs.  Gerom* 
Hoes  not  choose  to  receive  visitors,  what  right  has  the  public  to 
grumble,  or  even  discuss  the  mutter  ?  " 

|     As  Salome  spoke,  she  plunged  her  stiletto  vigorously  into  a 
piece  of  cambric,  and  her  thin  lip  curled  contemptuously. 

"  Abstractly  true,  niy  dear  child ;  but,  from  the  beginning  of 
time,  people  have  meddled;  and,  since  gossip  she  must,  even 
Eve  chatted  too  freely  with  serpents.  Besides,  since  we  are  in 
the  world,  we  should  not  turn  eremites,  and  bristle  at  the  sight 
of  one  of  our  own  race ;  for  society  has  a  few  laws  that  are  in 
exorable, —  that  cannot  be  violated  without  subjecting  the 
offender  to  being  stung  to  death  by  venomous  tongues ;  and 
one  of  these  statutes  is,  that  all  shall  see  and  be  seen,  shall 
talk  and  be  talked  about,  and  shall  visit  and  be  visited.  When 
a  woman  unaccounta  ily  turns  recluse,  she  is  at  the  mercy  of 
public  imagination,  stimulated  by  disappointed  curiosity;  and 
very  soon  the  verdict  goes  forth  that  she  is  either  deformed  o~ 
deranged." 

"  T  dispute  the.  prerogative  of  the  public  to  dictate  in  such 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  15.* 

•natters,  and  I  shall  rebel  whenever  it  presumes  to  lay  even  a 
little  finger  across  my  path.  What,  pray  tell  me,  is  the  world, 
but  JLD  aggregation  of  persons  like  you  and  me,  and  what 
possible  concern  can  you  or  I  have  with  the  fact  that  Mis. 
Gen/me  burrows  like  a  mole,  beyond  our  sight?  If  she  sees  fit 
to  found  a  modern  sect  of  Troglodytes,  I  can't  understand  tlu 
the  wneols  of  society  are  thereby  scotched,  cr  that  the  publi , 
has  a  dfiadow  of  right  to  raise  a  hue-and-cry  and  strive  to  mv 
enrch  iier,  as  if  she  were  a  fox,  a  catamount,  or  a  gopher.  It 
is  useless  for  society  to  constitute  itself  a  turning-lathe  for 
rounding  off  all  individual  angularities,  and  grinding  people 
down  to  dull  uniformity  until  they  are  as  indistinguishable  as 
a  bag  of  unpainted  marbles  or  of  black -eyed  peas ;  and,  if  God 
had  intended  that  we  should  all  invariably  think,  feel,  and  act 
after  one  pattern,  He  would  have  populated  the  world  with 
Siamese  twins ;  whereas,  the  iirst  couple  that  were  bom  on 
earth  were  so  dissimilar  that  all  the  universe  was  not  wide 
enough  to  hold  them  both,  arid  manslaughter  began  when  the 
race  only  numbered  a  quartette.  If  mankind  had  not  arrogated 
the  privilege  of  being  its  '  brother's  keeper,'  it  would  never  have 
been  forced  to  deny  the  fact.  I  admire  the  honesty  and  truth 
with  which  Alexander  Smith  bravely  confessed,  '  I  love  a  little 
eccentricity;  I  respect  honest  prejudices.  It  is  high  time,  it 
seems  to  me,  that  a  moral  game-law  were  passed  for  the  preser 
vation  of  the  wild  and  vagrant  feelings  of  human  nature.'  " 

"  That  is  a  dangerous  doctrine,  my  dear  child,  especially  foi  a 
woman  to  entertain;  because  custom  rules  us  with  an  iron  roJj 
and  flays  us  alive  if  we  contravene  her  decrees." 

"I  should  be  exceedingly  glad  to  learn  by  what  authority  ui 
process  Truth  is  provided  with  sex?  Are  some  orthodox 
doctrines  female  and  others  male?  Why  have  not  we  WOIUC-M 
as  clear  a  right  to  any  given  set  of  principles  as  mei>  ?  Truth 
is  AS  much  my  property  as  that  of  the  Czar  of  Rusbia,  and,  if  1 
choose  to  lay  hold  of  any  special  province  of  it,  why  must 
I  perforce  be  dragged  to  the  whipping-post  of  custom,  simplj 
because  by  an  accident  I  am  called  Susan  or  Hepzibah  instead 
sf  IV/er  or  Lazarus?  So  lony  as  mv  convictions  of  trath 


1M  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

(which  custom  brands  as  vagaries)  are  innocuous,  I  have  • 
perfect  and  inalienable  right  to  indulge  them ;  but  the  instant 
I  become  pestiferous  to  society,  let  ine  be  consigned  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  strait-jacket  ar.d  insane-asylum  regimen.  If  I 
rreep  quietly  along  my  own  intellectual  and  ethical  trail,  taking 
heed  not  to  touch  the  sensitive  toes  of  custom,  why  should  it 
ungenerously  insist  upon  bruising  mine '?  My  seer  was  right 
when  he  boldly  declared,  'The  world  has  stood  long  eno\igl» 
under  the  drill  of  Adjutant  Fashion,  it  is  hard  work,  the 
posture  is  wearisome,  and  Fashion  is  an  awful  martinet,  and 
has  a  quick  eye,  and  comes  down  mercilessly  on  the  un 
fortunate  wight  who  can  not  square  his  toes  to  the  approved 
pattern.  It  is  killing  work.  Suppose  we  try  'standing  al 
ease  '  for  a  little  while  ?  '  Wherefore,  custom  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding,  I  contend  that  Mrs.  Gei'ome  has  as  indispu 
table  a  right  to  refuse  admittance  to  Rev.  Mrs.  Spitwell  as  any 
anchorite  of  the  Nitrian  Sands  to  decline  receiving  a  bevy  of 
inquisitive  European  belles.  If  society  rules  like  Russia  or 
Turkey,  then  am  I  a  candidate  for  knout  and  bastinado.  1  dc 
not  wish  to  be  unwomanly,  and  honesty  and  candor  are  not 
necessarily  unfeininine,  because  some  coarse,  rough-handed, 
''K»ld-eyed  woman  has  possibly  rendered  them  unpopular." 

Miss  Jane  laid  down  her  knitting,  folded  her  hands,  and,  as 
.^.e  watched  the  girl,  her  emotions  were  probably  similar  to 
those  that  agitate  some  meek  and  staid  hen,  who,  leading  a 
young  brood  of  ducks  from  her  nest,  suddenly  beholds  them  dis 
playing  their  aquatic  proclivities  by  plunging  into  the  horee- 
pond,  And  performing  all  the  evolutions  of  a  regatta. 

"Ah,  child,  I  fear  you  think  too  little  of  what  you  wish  01 
intend  to  make  yourself!  " 

"  Only  have  patience,  Miss  Jane,  and  some  day  I  will  shov 
pou  all  the  graces  of  Griselda  and  Gudrun  the  second.  Dr 
&rey,  have  you  seen  Mrs.  Gerome  ?  '* 

u  Yes,  —  on  two  occasions." 

"  Is  she  not  the  most  extraordinary  and  puzzling  p-traou  you 
sver  looked  at  ?  "  / 

"  When  and  when-*  could  you  have  met  her  ?  " 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART  157 

**  For  a  few  minutes  only,  last  winter,  I  saw  her  on  the  fteach^ 

near  '  Solitude.'  We  exchanged  a  half-dozen  words,  ana  she 
left  an  impression  on  my  mind  whicli  all  time  will  not  efface, 
Since  tliat  evening  I  have  frequently  endeavored  to  surprise  bei 
>r  the  same  spot,  but  only  once  J  succeeded  in  catching  & 
gliinpsc  of  a  blue  shawl  that  fluttered  in  the  distance.  Shi: 
aer.mtd  to  me  a  beautiful,  pale  priestess,  consecrated  k>  tu- 
ministry  of  the  shrine  of  sorrow  ;  and,  when  I  hear  smibbed-don> 
sneering  at  her,  and  remember  the  hopeless  expression  with 
which  her  wonderful,  homeless  eyes  looked  out  across  that  grey, 
silent  sea,  —  I  cannot  avoid  tb inking  that  she  is  very  wise  in 
ban-ing  her  doors,  and  heeding  the  advice  of  Montenebi, 
Complain  'not  of  thy  woes  to  the  piMic:  they  will  no  more 
pity  thee  than  birds  of  prey  pity  the  wounded  deer?  " 

"  My  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Gerome  is  too  slight  to  warrant 
the  utterance  of  an  opinion  relative  to  her  idiosyncrasies,  but 
I  am  afraid  cynicism  rather  than  grief  immures  her  from  society. 
Her  prematurely  white  hair  and  the  remarkable  pallor  of  her 
smooth  complexion  combine  to  render  her  appearance  piquant 
and  unnatural ;  and,  certainly,  there  is  something  in  her  face, 
strangely  suggestive  of  old  Norse  myths,  mystery,  and  magic. 
Her  features,  when  analyzed,  prove  faultlessly  regular,  but  her 
life  is  out  of  tune,  and  the  expression  of  her  countenance  maru 
what  would  otherwise  be  perfect  beauty.  1  can,  in  some  degree, 
describe  the  impression  she  produced  upon  me  by  quoting  the 
lines  that  were  suggested  when  I  saw  her  this  morning,  stan  *ing 
by  Elsie  Maclean's  bed,  — 

'  I  saw  a  vision  of  a  woman,  where 

Night  and  new  morning  strive  for  domination ; 
Incomparably  pale,  and  almost  fair, 

And  sad  beyond  expression. 
Her  eyes  were  like  some  fire-enshrining  gem, 

Were  stately,  like  the  stars,  and  yet  were  tender; 
Her  figure  charmed  me,  like  a  windy  stem, 

Quivering,  and  drooped,  ana  slender. 
She  measured  measureless  sorrow  toward  ite  length 

And  bread  th,  and  depth,  and  height. '  " 
14 


158  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Salome  looked  up  from  the  eyelet  she  was  working,  but  Dr 
Grey  had  turned  his  head  towards  his  sister  who  had  fallet 
asleep  in  her  chair,  and  the  orphan  could  not  see  his  face. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome  must  have  been  very  young  when  she  married, 
»nd—  " 

"  Hush  !  Janet  looks  so  weary  that  I  want  her  to  have  a  lon£ 
aap,  and  our  voices  might  disturb  her." 

He  took  his  hat  and  gloves  and  left  the  room,  and  Salome 
fcrgot  her  embroidery  and  fell  into  a  reverie  that  proved 
neither  pleasant  nor  profitable,  and  lasted  until  Miss  Jaue 
awoke. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  when  the  orphan  re 
turned  from  her  clandestine  visit  to  the  Italian  musician,  she 
saw  an  unusual  number  of  persons  on  the  front  gallery,  and 
found  that  the  long-expected  party  from  Xew  York  had  airived 
during  her  absence.  Miss  Jane  was  talking  to  the  governess  — 
a  meek-looking,  but  exceedingly  handsome  woman,  of  twenty 
seven  or  eight  years,  with  fair  hair  and  quiet  brown  eyes ;  and 
every  detail  of  her  dress,  speech,  and  bearing  averred  that  Edith 
Dexter  was  no  humble  scion  of  proletariat.  Her  polished  yet 
reserved  manners  bespoke  high  birth  and  aristocratic  associa 
tions  ;  but  something  in  the  composed,  sad  countenance,  ir 
the  listless  drooping  of  the  pretty  head,  hinted  that  she  had 
long  since  spilt  the  rosy  sparkling  foam  of  her  cup  of  life,  and 
was  patiently  drinking  its  muddy  lees. 

On  the  upper  step  sat  Dr.  Grey,  with  his  arm  encircling  tht 
form  of  his  ward,  whose  head  rested  very  confidingly  against  his 
shoulder.  Muriel  Manton  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  and 
had  evidently  been  weeping,  for  her  guardian  was  tenderly 
sripiug  tJis  tears  from  her  cheek  when  Salome  came  up  the 
ivenue ;  and,  with  a  keen,  jealous  pang  that  she  had  never 
&lt  b*foie,  tie  latter  scanned  the  stranger's  claims  to  beauty. 

Very  b^ack  eyes,  brilliant  complexion,  and  fine  teeth,  she  cer 
tainly  possessed ;  but  her  features  were  rather  coarse ;  her  mouth 
was  much  too  large  for  classic  requirements;  and  Salome  was 
rejoiced  to  find  her  nose  indisputably  retrousse. 

Years  hence   she  would  doubtless  be  a  large,  weU-formed, 


(TSfTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  IfiS 


^voman,  wlio  could  exhibit  Lyons  sLk  or 
tc  the  best  advantage,  and  would  be  considered  a  iiiii;- 
looking,  rosy,  robust  personage  ;  but  at  present  the  face,  which 
from  under  a  small  straw  hat  anxiously  watched  Lers,  was  inii- 
aitely  handsomer,  more  attractive,  more  delicate,  and  intelleo 
sual  ;  and  the  miller's  child  felt  that  she  had  little  to  apprehend 
£rcia  the  merely  personal  charms  of  the  wealthy  ward. 

Salome  felt  injured  as  she  eyed  the  doctor's  arm,  which  had 
never  touched  even  her  shoulder:  and  it  was  painful  and  hu 
miliating  to  notice  the  affectionate  manner  in  which  his  hand 
stroked  one  of  Muriel's  that  lay  on  his  knee,  —  and  to  remember 
that  his  fingers  had  not  met  hers  in  a  friendly  grasp  since  long 
before  his  visit  to  Europe,  —  had  only  clasped  hers  twice 
during  their  acquaintance. 

"  Come  in,  Salome,  and  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  ward 
Muriel,  and  to  Miss  Dexter,  who  is  prepared  to  receive  you  aa 
a  pupil." 

Muriel  silently  held  out  her  hand  ;  but  Salome  only  bowed 
and  run  lightly  up  the  steps,  as  if  she  did  not  perceive  the  out 
stretched  fingers.  Miss  Dexter  rose  and  advanced  to  meet  her, 
saying,  in  a  tone  that  indexed  great  kindness  of  heart,  — 

"  I  am  exceedingly  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Salome  ;  for  Dr. 
Grey  has  promised  that  I  shall  find  in  you  a  most  exemplary 
and  agreeable  pupil." 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  indeed  glad  to  hear  that  he  has  changed 
his  opinion  of  me  ;  and  I  must  endeavor  not  to  lose  my  newly 
acquired  amiable  character,  —  but  he  was  rather  rash  to  stand 
security  for  my  good  behavior." 

She  saw  that  Dr.  Grey  was  surprised  at  her  cold  reception  ol 
his  pet  and  protege,  and  perversity  took  possession  of  her. 
Q-oing  to  the  back  of  Miss  Jane's  old-fashioned  rocking-chair 
%he  put  her  arms  around  her,  and,  leaning  over,  kissed  her  cheek 
irvtral  times.  It  was  not  her  habit  to  caress  any  one  or  any 
t/hing,  —  not  even  her  little  brother,  —  and  this  unusual  demoa- 
sirativeBOss  p'izzied  f  ud  surprised  the  aid  lady  who  said, 
fondly,  — 


160  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAMT. 

"I  j. resume  Ulpian  is  brave  enough  to  encounter  all  the  flak* 
of  standing  security  for  your  obedience  and  docility." 

"  Certainly  I  appreciate  his  chivalry,  since  none  knows  better 
than  he  the  danger — nay,  probability,  of  a  forfeiture  of  the 
contract  on  my  part." 

Dr.  Grey  rose,  and,  looking  steadihv  at  her.  said,  in  a  tone 
whioh  she  well  xinderstood, — 

"  Promises  are,  in  my  estimation,  peculiarly  sacred  thbigs ; 
and  that  which  I  made  to  Miss  Dexter  in  your  behalf  was  based 
upon  one  that  I  gave  you  some  time  since,  namely,  that  I  would 
have  faith  in  you.  Come  with  me,  Muriel ;  1  want  to  show  yov 
and  Miss  Dexter  the  finest  cow  this  side  of  Ayrshire,  and 
Borne  sheep  that  are  handsome  enough  to  compare  favorably 
with  the  best  that  ever  browsed  in  the  '  Court  of  Lions.' " 

He  took  liis  ward's  hand  and  led  her  away  to  the  cattle-yard, 
whither  Miss  Dexter  accompanied  them. 

As  Salome  looked  after  the  trio  her  eyes  flashed  and  scarlet 
spots  burned  on  her  cheeks,  while  a  feeling  of  suffocation 
oppressed  her  heart. 

"  AVTiy  will  you  vex  him,  when  you  know  that  he  tri^s  so  ha,nJ 
to  like  you?"  asked  Miss  Jane  in  a  distressed  tone,  struking 
the  girl's  hot  face,  as  she  spoke. 

The  head  was  instantly  lifted  beyond  her  reach,  and  the  an 
swer  came  swiftly,  sharp  and  defiant, — 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  it  is  so  extremely  difficult  for  hitu 
to  tolerate  me  ?  " 

"  You  are  obliged  to  know  that  you  are  not  one  of  his  fa 
vorites,  like  that  sweet-tempered  Muriel,  to  whom  he  seems  so 
warmly  attached ;  and  it  is  all  your  own  fault,  for  he  was  dis 
posed  to  like  you  when  he  first  came  home.  Ulpian  loves  quie: 
and  amiable  people,  who  are  never  rude  and  snappish  ;  and  i 
appears  to  me  that  you  are  trying  to  see  how  hateful  and  spite 
ful  you  can  be.  Why  upon  earth  did  you  not  shake  hands  wrU 
those  scrangers,  and  treat  them  politely  ?  " 

"Because  I  don't  choose  to  be  hypocritical,  —  anc  I  don't  lit* 
Miss  Muriel  Manton." 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART.  161 


u  Nonsense  !     Stuff  !     I  only  wish  you  were  half  as 
and  courteous,  and  lady-like." 

"Do  you,  really?  Then,  to  be  obedient  and,  oblige  you, 
when  they  come  back,  I  will  imitate  her  example,  and  throw 
myself  into  Dr.  Grey's  arms,  and  rub  my  cheek  against  hi? 
•moulder,  and  fondle  his  hands.  If  this  be  'lady-  like,'  theii, 
indeed,  I  penitently  cry  'peccavi  !  '  and  promise  that  in  future 
you  shall  not  have  cause  to  complain  of  me  " 

"  Pooh,  pooh,  child  !  What  ails  you?  Muriel  has  known 
Ulpian  all  her  life,  and  looks  upon  him  now  as  her  father.  He 
has  petted  her  since  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  loves  her  almost 
as  well  as  if  she  were  his  child,  instead  of  his  ward.  You  know 
she  is  an  orphan  ;  and  it  is  very  natural  for  her  to  cling  to  her 
guurdian,  who  was  for  a  great  many  years  her  father's  most 
intimate  friend." 

"We  are  both  orphans,  and  she  is  certainly  not  my  junior  ,4 
yet  your  propriety  would  be  shocked  if  1  behaved  as  she  does. 
Where  is  Stun  Icy?" 

"  Studying  his  geography  lesson,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
globe,  in  the  library.  What  do  you  want  with  him?" 

"  1  am  going  to  the  beach,  and  wish  him  to  walk  with  me." 

"  It  is  too  late  for  you  to  start  for  the  sea-side,  and,  more 
over,  it  would  appear  very  discourteous  in  you  to  absent  your 
self  the  first  evening  that  these  strangers  spend  here.  Ulpian 
would  be  displeased." 

"According  to  your  statement  a  few  minutes  since,  that  is 
his  chronic  condition,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned;  and,  as  I  do  not 
belong  to  the  mimosa  species,  I  think  I  may  brave  his  frowns." 

"That  is  not  the  worst  you  have  to  appiehend.  Child,  .1 
think  it  would  be  bitter  indeed,  to  bear  Ulpian  Grey's  con 
tempt." 

"  I  shall  take  care  not  to  deserve  it  ;  and  Dr.  Grey  never  for- 
gots  to  be  just." 

"My  dear  little  girl,  what  right  have  you  to  be  jealous  of  hit* 
love  for  his  young  ward?  " 

The  flame  that  was  slowly  dying  out  of  her  face  leaped  uj 
fiercer  than  before,  and  she  crimsoned  to  the  edges  of  her  hair. 
14* 


162  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"Jealous!  Good  heavens,  Miss  Jane,  you  m"£t  b*>  dream 
ing  !  I  merely  question  the  taste  that  allows  his  *  lady-like ' 
ta\orite  to  caress  him  so  openly,  and  should  not  have  expressed 
my  disapprobation  so  strongly  if  you  had  not  rated  me  soundly, 
anil  held  her  up  as  a  model  for  my  humble  imitation.  If  she 
and  her  governess  aie  to  stir  up  strife  between  you  arid  me,  I 
shall  heartily  wish  them  a  speedy  passage  to  Halifax  or  Heaven. 
Beyond  all  peradventure  I  shall  get  murderously  jealoiis  if  yo^ 
dare  to  give  this  sloe-eyed,  peony-faced  girl,  my  place  in  your 
dear  old  heart.  She,  of  course,  will  fondle  her  guardian  as 
much  as  she  pleases,  or  as  often  as  he  sees  fit  to  allow;  Lut  woo 
unto  her  if  I  catch  her  hands  and  lips  about  you,  my  dearest 
and  best  friend !  Don't  scold  me  and  praise  her,  or  some  fine 
day  I  shall  jump  at  and  strangle  her,  which  you  know  would 
not  be  '  well-bred '  or  '  lady-like,'  much  less  moral  and  Chris 
tian." 

She  almost  smothered  the  old  lady  in  her  arms,  and  kissed 
her  several  times. 

"  What  has  stirred  up  the  evil  spirit  in  you  ?  You  look  as 
wicked  as  your  mother  Herodias,  thirsting  for  the  blood  of 
John  the  Baptist ;  or  as  Jezebel  plotting  against  the  prophet  —  " 

"  And  telling  me  that  like  her  I  am  '  going  to  the  dogs '  is  not 
the  surest  way  to  reform  me.  Stanley !  Stanley !  get  your  hat 
and  come  here." 

"  Your  awful  temper  will  be  your  ruin  if  you  dcn't  put  a 
curb-bit  on  it.  See  here,  Salome,  don't  be  so  utterly  silly 
and  childish !  I  do  not  wish  you  to  go  to  the  sea-shore  this 
evening." 

"  Please,  Miss  Jane,  don't  order  me  to  stay  at  home,  because, 
then  of  course,  I  should  feel  bound  to  obey  you,  and  I  should 
not  behave  prettily,  and  you  would  wish  me  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea,  instead  of  on  its  brink.  Let  me  go,  and  I  will  come 
back  cool  as  a  cucumber,  and  well-behaved  as  Miss  Muriel 
Wanton.  Please  don't  prohibit  me ;  and  I  promise  I  will  losa 
my  evil  spirit  in  the  sea,  like  that  Gergesene  wretch  that 
haunted  the  tombs.  Here  comes  Stanley.  Don't  shak»  jo'^i 
head.  T  am  off." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  IbJ 

Miss  Jan 3  would  not  receive  the  proffered  farewell  kiss  ,  but 
tears  gathered  and  dimmed  her  eyes  as  she  looked  after  the  grace 
ful,  girlish  figure,  swiftly  crossing  the  lawn ;  and  sad  foreboding? 
filled  her  affectionate  heart  when  she  thought  of  the  unknown 
future  that  stretched  before  that  impetuous,  jealous,  imperious 
nature. 

Ajixious  that  the  strangers  should  feel  thoroughly  welcomes 
and  at  home,  she  joined  them  as  soon  as  possible  after  their 
return  from  the  sheepfold,  and  exerted  herself  to  keep  the 
shuttlecock  of  conversation  in  constant  motion ;  but  hei 
brother's  watchful  eyes  discerned  the  perturbed  feeling  she 
sought  to  hide ;  and,  when  she  insisted,  for  the  first  time  in  two 
years,  upon  taking  her  seat  and  presiding  at  the  tea-table,  he 
busied  himself  in  arranging  her  cushions  comfortably,  and 
whispered,  — 

"  How  good  and  considerate  you  are,  my  precious  sister.  A 
thousand  thanks  for  this  generous  effort,  which.  I  trust  will  not 
fatigue  you." 

He  placed  himself  opposite,  and  was  about  to  ask  a  blessing 
on  the  meal,  but  paused  to  inquire, — 

"Where  are  the  children,  Salome  and  Stanley?" 

"  They  have  gone  down  to  the  beach,  and  we  will  not  wait 
for  them." 

Soon  after,  Muriel  said, — 

"  I  think  Salome  is  almost  beautiful.  She  has  splendid  eyoa 
and  hair.  Miss  Edith,  does  she  not  remind  you  of  a  piece  of 
sculpture  at  Naples  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  noticed  a  resemblance  to  the  JuliarAgirlppina)  and 
the  likeness  must  be  remarkable,  since  it  impressed  us  simul 
taneously.  Salome's  brow  is  fuller,  and  her  chin  more  promi 
nent  than  that  of  the  Roman  woman  we  adinireu  so  ardently  • 
and,  besides,  I  should  judge  that  she  had  quite  as  much  or  moro 
will  than  the  daughter  of  Germanicus,  for  her  lips  an;  thinner." 

Dr.  Grey  changed  the  topic  of  conversation,  ana  Miss  Dexter 
courteously  followed  the  cue. 

The  moon  was  high  in  heaven  when  Salome  and  her  brothei 
came  up  the  avenue  j  and,  observing  that  the  lights  wer»  extin 


164  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

guished  in  the  front  rooms,  she  surmised  that  the  new-comer* 
had  retired  very  early,  in  conseqiience  of  fatigue  from  their  long 
journey.  Sending  Stanley  to  bed,  she  sat  down  on  the  steps  to 
rest  a  few  moments  before  going  upstairs,  and  began  to  fac 
herself  with  her  straw  hat. 

She  had  grown  veiy  calm,  and  almost  ashamed  cf  her  [** 
sionate  ebullition  in  the  presence  of  sti angers ;  and  numerous 
good  resolutions  were  sending  out  fibrous  roots  in  her  heart. 
How  long  she  rested  there  she  knew  not,  and  started  when  ho 
Dr.  Grey  said,  in  a  subdued  voice,— 

"  Salome,  I  am  waiting  to  lock  the  door,  and  shoiJd  be  glad 
if  you  will  come  in  now,  or  be  careful  to  secure  the  inner  bolt 
whenever  you  do.  As  I  always  shut  up  the  house,  I  was  afraid 
you  might  not  think  of  it ;  and  burglaries  are  becoming  alarm 
ingly  frequent." 

She  rose  instantly,  and  entered  the  hall. 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"  Eleven  o'clock." 

"  Is  it  possible  1  You  know,  sir,  that  the  evenings  are  very 
short  now." 

"Yes." 

He  was  removing  a  chair  from  the  gallery  and  closing  the 
Venetian  blinds,  and  she  could  not  see  his  face.  Hoping  tc 
receive  some  friendly  look,  which  she  was  painfully  aware  she 
did  not  deserve,  she  loitered  till  he  turned  around. 

"  Salome,  have  you  a  light  in  your  room  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  suppose  so." 

"  There  are  two  candles  in  the  library,  and  you  had  better 
take  one,  rather  than  stumble  along  in  the  dark  and  wake 
everybotiy." 

He  brought  out  one,  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  Thank  you.     Good-night,  Dr.  Grey." 

"  Good-night,  Salome." 

The  candle-light  showed  no  displeasure  in  his  countenance, 
which  was  calm  as  usval,  and  there  was  not  a  hint  of  harshness 
in  his  unwontedly  low  voice ;  but  she  read  disappointment  ir 
Ilia  grave,  kind  eyes.  She  knew  that  she  could  not  sleep  untiJ 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  166 

sLe  had  made  her  peace  with  him;  and,  though  it  cost  her  * 
great  eiFort  to  conquer  her  pride,  she  said,  humbly,  — 

"  'Ami  if  he  trespass  against  thee  seven  times  in  a  day,  and 
seven  tiin^3  in  a  day  turn  again  to  thee,  saying,  I  repent,  —  thou 
shalt  forgive  him.' " 

"  Yes ;  but  the  frequency  of  the  offence  renders  it  difficult  tf 
bfclieire  the  repentance  genuine." 

"  Christ,  your  master,  did  not  doubt  it." 

"  I  am  less  than  the  disciples  whom  he  addressed ;  and  they 
answered,  'Increase  our  faith-'" 

"  You  did  not  pray  for  me  this  morning." 

"  1  never  neglect  my  promises.  Why  do  you  doubt  that  I 
''ulfilled  them  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Tliis  Las  been  one  of  my  sinful  days,  when  Satan  rung 
rough-shod  over  all  my  good  intentions,  and  drags  me  through 
the  mire  that  I  was  trying  to  hold  my  soul  far  above.  I  tell 
you,  sir,  that  the  'unclean  spirit'  that  vexed  the  daughter  of 
the  Syrophoenician  woman,  was  inild,  and  harmless,  and  •well- 
mannered,  in  comparison  with  the  demon  that  takes  bodily  pos 
session  of  me,  and  whose  name  is  not  'Suset^I  but  a  fearful 
Jlnach  demanding  the  ban  Ckerem.  I  once  thought  all  that 
p.irt  of  Scripture  which  referred  to  the  casting  out  of  devils 
was  metaphorical ;  but  f  know  better  now ;  for  the  one  that 
Luther  assaulted  with  his  inkstand  was  not  more  palpable  than 
that  which  enters  into  my  heart  every  now  and  then,  and  over 
turns  the  altars  of  the  '  true,  good,  and  beautiful,'  and  sets  up 
instead  a  small  hall  of  Eblis,  as  full  of  horrible,  mis-shapen 
things  as  that  hideous  '  Last  Judgment '  of  Orcagna,  in  the  Canipo 
Santo  at  Pisa,  which  you  once  showed  me  in  a  portfolio  of  en 
gravings.  Oh,  Dr.  Grey  !  you  ought  to  be  merciful  to  me ;  for 
indeed  God  gave  me  a  fearfully  wicked  and  cunning  spirit  for  a 
perpetual  companion  and  tempter.  Even  Christ  had  Lucifer 
and  Quarantina." 

"  YPS,  and  conquered  both,  and  pron  ised  assistance  to  al] 
who  earnestly  desire  and  resolve  to  follow  liis  example." 

"  You  cannot  forgive  my  rudeness  ?  " 

"  The  act  of  incivility  was  very  slight ;  but,  my  yorns  friend^ 


166  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAHT. 

the  unaccountable  perversity  of  your  character  certainly  filli 
ray  mind  with  serious  apprehension  concerning  your  future.  Of 
course,  I  can  very  readily  forgive  the  occasion  that  displayed  it, 
but  I  cannot  entirely  forget  the  spirit  that  distresses  me  whcE 
1  least  expect  it." 

"If  you  will  dismiss  this  afternoon  from  yrrur  mind,  I  -wi?! 
nt  ver  —  " 

u  Stop !  Make  me  no  more  promises  till  you  arc  strong 
enough  to  keep  them  inviolate.  Promise  less  and  pray  more ; 
I  am  not  angry,  but  I  am  disappointed." 

She  drooped  her  head  to  avoid  his  grave,  sad  gaze,  and  for  a 
moment  there  was  silence. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  will  you  shake  hands  with  me,  in  token  of  par 
don?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it." 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his,  pressed  it  kindly,  and  said 
in  a  low,  solemn  tone, — 

"  Good-night,  Salome.  May  God  guide,  and  strengthen,  an  i 
help  you  to  be  the  noble  woman,  the  consistent  Christian,  which 
only  His  grace  and  blessing  can  ever  enable  you  to  tecome. 
Remember  the  cheering  words  of  Jean  Paul  Richter,  '  Evil  in 
like  the  nightmare,  the  instant  you  bestir  yourself  i:  has  si- 
ready  ended.' " 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  LO  PART.  167 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

LPEAN,  have  you  had  any  converaatior.    with   Ss 

lome  ?  " 

"  Upon  what  subject?  " 

"  Have  you  talked  with  her  concerning  her  studies  r  " 

"  Not  recently.  Soon  after  Muriel  and  Miss  Dexter  came,  I 
mentioned  to  her  the  fact  that  I  should  be  glad  to  see  her  enter 
a  dass  with  Muriel  and  pursue  the  same  studies,  and  that  sucl 
an  arrangement  would  be  entirely  agreeable  to  Miss  Dexter  ; 
but  she  declined  the  proposition,  saying  she  would  only  trouble 
the  latter  to  teach  her  Italian.  Do  you  know  why  she  is  sc 
anxious  to  acquire  that  language  ?  " 

"  No  ;  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  know  less  and  less  every  day 
about  her  actions,  for  the  child  has  suddenly  grown  very  re 
served.  This  morning  she  was  walking  up  and  down  the  library 
with  her  hands  behind  her  and  her  eyes  looking  as  if  they  were 
travelling  to  Jericho  or  Jeddo,  and  when  I  asked  her  why  she 
was  so  unusually  silent,  she  snapped  like  a  toy-torpedo,  '  I  am 
silent  because  this  is  one  of  my  wicked  days,  and  I  am  fighting 
the  devil ;  and  if  I  open  my  lips  I  shall  say  something  that  wiU 
give  him  the  victory.'  I  held  out  my  hand  to  her  and  begged 
her  to  come  and  sit  by  me  and  tell  me  what  troubled  or  tempted 
her,  —  and  what  do  you  suppose  she  said  ?  " 

"  Something,  I  am  afraid,  that  I  shall  be  sorry  to  hear  you 
repeat." 

"  She  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart  and  answered,  '  You  are 
very  good,  Miss  Jane,  but  you  can  no  more  help  me  than  the 
disciples  could  relieve  that  wretch  whom  only  Christ  healed. 
1  This  Jdnd  goetli  not  out  but  l>y  prayer  and  fasting.  *  Where 
upon,  she  snatched  a  book  from  the  table  and  left  the  room.  I 
did  not  se«  her  for  several  hours,  and  when  I  met  her  in  tho 
&all,  a  few  moments  since,  I  said,  '  Well,  dear,  which  won  the 
victory,  sin  or  my  little  girl  ? '  She  put  her  hands  on  my  shoul 
ders,  laughed  bitterly,  and  answered,  'It  vas  a  i-awn  oattla 


168  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Neither  has  much  to  boast  of,  and  we  lie  on  our  arris  watching 
—  nay,  glaring  at  each  other,  Let  nie  be  quiet  a  little  while, 
and  don't  ask  ine  about  it.' " 

"Can  you  conjecture  the  cause  of  the  present  trouble?" 

"  I  have  a  suspicion." 

Miss  Jane  paused,  sighed,  and  frowned. 

:<  I  should  think  you  might  persuade  her  to  confide  in  you." 
'  Pooh  !  Persuade  her  ?  I  would  quite  as  soon  undertake 
U;  persuade  the  Andes  to  dance  a  jig  as  attempt  to  discover 
what  she  has  determined  not  to  divulge.  If  you  knew  her  aa 
well  as  I  do,  you  would  appreciate  the  uselessness  of  trying  to 
persuade  her  to  do  anything.  But  you  men  never  see  what  lies 
right  under  your  noses,  and  I  believe  if  you  lived  in  the  same 
house  with  that  child  for  five  years  longer  you  would  under 
stand  her  as  little  as  you  do  to-day.  Ulpian,  shut  the  door,  and 
sit  down  here  close  to  me." 

Dr.  Grey  complied;  and,  laying  her  shrunken  hand  on  her 
brother's  knee,  Miss  Jane  said,  hesitatingly,  — 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  tell  you, 
and,  indeed,  I  do  not  see  my  way  cleayly ;  but  you  seem  so  un- 
Buspecting  that  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Pray  come  to  the  point,  dear  Janet.  Your  exordium  is 
very  tantalizing.  Tell  me  frankly  what  disturbs  you." 

"  It  pains  me  to  call  your  attention  to  a  fact  *hat  I  know 
cannot  fail  to  prodrie  annoyance." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her,  and,  drawing  her  head  to  hia 
shoulder,  answered,  tenderly, — 

"  My  precious  sister,  I  have  seen  for  some  days  that  you  were 
perplexed  an4  anxious,  but  I  abstained  from  questioning  you 
because  I  felt  assured  whenever  you  deemed  it  best  to  confide 
in  me,  you  would  voluntarily  unburden  your  heart.  Now  lay 
*]1  your  troubles  upon  me,  and  keep  back  nothing.  Has 
Salerno  grieved  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  the  child  does  not  intend  to  grieve  me!  Ulpian, 
can't  you  imagine  what  makes  her  unhappy,  and  restless,  and 
contrary  ?  " 

**  She  is  very  wayward,  passionate,  and  obstinate,  and  any 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  169 

restraint  upon  lier  whims  is  peculiarly  irksome  and  intolerable 
to  her;  but  I  believe  she  is  really  striving  to  correct  the  unfor 
tunate  defects  in  her  character.  She  evidently  dislikes  OUT 
guests,  and  this  proves  a  continual  source  of  disquiet  to  her; 
for,  while  she  endeavors  to  treat  them  courteously,  I  can  869 
vhat  she  would  be  excessively  rude  if  she  "Tared  to  indulge  hei 
antipathies." 

"Do  von  know  why  she  dislikes  Muriel  so  intensely?" 

*'  No  ;  1  cannot  even  conjecture.  Muriel  iw  very  amiable  and 
affectionate,  and  seems  disposed  to  become  very  fond  of  Salome, 
if  she  would  only  encourage  her  advances.  Can  you  explain 
the  mystery  ?  " 

"  If  you  were  not  as  blind  as  a  mole,  or  the  fish  in  Mam 
moth  Cave,  you  would  see  that  Salome  is  insanely  jealous  of 
your  affection  for  your  ward,  and  that  is  the  cause  of  all  the 
trouble." 

"  It  is  unreasonable  and  absurd  in  her  to  entertain  such  feel 
ings  ;  and,  moreover,  she  has  no  right  to  cherish  any  jealousy 
towards  rny  ward." 

"  Unreasonable!  Yes,  quite  true;  but  did  you  ever  know  a 
woman  to  be  very  reasonable  concerning  the  man  she  loves?  " 

Dr.  Grey's  quiet  face  flushed,  arid  he  rose  instantly,  looking 
incredulous  and  embarrassed. 

"  Surely,  my  dear  sister,  you  do  not  intend  to  insinuate,  or 
desire  me  to  infer,  that  Salome  has  any  — 

He  paused,  bit  his  lip,  and  walked  to  the  window. 

"  I  mean  to  say,  in  plain  Anglo-Saxon,  and  1  desiro  you  to 
understand,  that  Salome  is  110  longer  a  child ;  and  that  she  loves 
you,  my  dear  boy,  better  than  she  will  ever  love  any  other 
human  being.  These  things  are  very  strar.ge,  indeed,  and  girls' 
whims  bailie  all  rules  and  disappoint  all  reasonable  expectations; 
but.,  nevertheless,  it  does  no  good  to  shut  your  eyes  to  facts  that 
aro  aa  clear  as  daylight.  It  is  not  a  sudden  freak  that  ha* 
seized  the  poor  child;  it  has  gixiwn  upon  her,  almost  without 
her  understanding  herself;  but  1  discovered  it  the  day  that  you 
left  home  so  unexpectedly  for  New  York.  Her  distress  betrayed 
15 


170  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  1  UiT 

ner  *-eal  fed  ings ;  and,  since  then,  I  have  watched  he:,  anl  can 
Bee  how  completely  her  thoughts  centre;  iii  you." 

"Oh,  Janet,  I  hope  you  mistake  her!  I  cannot  believe  it 
possible,  for  I  recall  nothing  in  her  conduct  that  justifies  yoor 
supposition ;  and  I  do  not  think  I  lack  penetration.  If  bt? 
were  really  interested  in  me,  as  you  imagine,  she  certainly  would 
not  thrust  so  prominently  and  constantly  bt-fore  me  faults  ol 
character  which  she  well  knows  I  cannot  tolerate.  Moreo\  er, 
my  dear  Bister,  consider  the  disparity  in  our  years,  the  incoui' 
patibility  of  our  tastes  and  habits,  and  the  improbability  that  a 
handsome  young  girl  should  cherish  any  feeling  stronger  than 
esteem  or  friendship  for  a  staid  man  of  my  age  !  No,  no ;  it  is 
too  incredible  to  be  entertained,  and  I  am  sorry  you  ever  sug 
gested  such  an  annoying  chimera  to  me.  Salome  is  rather  a 
singular  compound,  1  willingly  admit,  but  I  acquit  her  of  the 
folly  you  seem  inclined  to  impute  to  her." 

Dr.  Grey  walked  up  and  down  the  library  floor,  and,  as  his 
sister  watched  him,  a  sad  smile  trembled  over  her  thin,  wrinkled 
face. 

"  Ulpian,  you  are  considerably  younger  than  our  poor  father 
was  when  he  married  a  beautiful  creature  not  one  month  older 
than  Salome  is  to-day.  Will  you  sit  in  judgment  on  your  own 
young  mother  ?  " 

"  Nay,  Janet ;  the  parallelism  is  no*  ?»«  apparent  as  you  im 
agine,  for  my  manner  toward  Salome  has  been  caleulatAd  to 
check  and  chill  any  sentiment  analogous  to  tbn.t  which  my  rather 
sought  to  win  from  my  mother.  Pray,  do  not  press  upon  me  a 
eurmise  which  is  indescribably  painful  to  me." 

He  resumed  his  seat,  and,  thrusting  his  fingers  through  hi» 
hair,  leaned  his  head  on  his  open  hand. 

"My  dear  boy,  if  true,  why  should  it  prove  indescribably 
painful  to  you  ?  " 

"  Cannot  your  womanly  intuitions  Bpare  me  an  explicit 
-eply?" 

"No;  speak  frankly  to  me." 

"No  man  of  honor  —  no  man  who  has  any  delicacy  or  refine 
ment  of  feeling  —  can  fail  to  be  distressed  and  annoyed  by  the 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  171 

thought  that  lie  has  unintentionally  and  unconsciously  aroused 
in  a  woman's  heart  an  interest  which  he  cannot  jossibly  recip 
rocate." 

"  But.  if  you  have  never  considered  the  subject  until  new, 
how  do  you  know  that  you  may  not  be  able  to  return  the 
affection  ?  " 

"  Because,  when  I  examine  my  own  heart,  I  find  not  even  tD* 
germ  of  a  feeling  which  years  might  possibly  ripen  into  love." 

ff  Will  you  candidly  answer  the  question  I  am  about  to  ask 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  can  safely  promise  that  much,  simply  because 
I  wish  to  conceal  nothing  from  you ;  and  I  cannot  conjecture 
any  inquiry  on  your  part  from  which  I  should  shrink.  What 
would  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Is  it  because  you  are  interested  in  some  other  woman,  that 
you  speak  so  positively  of  the  hopelessness  of  my  poor  Salome's 
case  ?  " 

"  No,  my  sister ;  no  woman  has  any  claim  or  hold  on  my 
heart  stronger  than  that  of  mere  friendship.  1  have  never 
loved  any  one  as  1  must  love  the  woman  ]  make  my  wife ;  and 
since  1  have  seen  and  merely  admired  so  many  who  were  attrac 
tive,  lovely,  and  lovable,  I  often  think  that  I  shall  probablj 
never  marry. 

'  For  several  virtues 

I  have  liked  several  women ;  never  any 
With  so  full  a  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  owne^. 
And  put  it  to  a  foil. ' 

Of  course  this  is  a  matter  with  reference  to  which  I  shall  no! 
dogmatize,  for  ve  are  all  more  or  less  the  victims  of  caprice ; 
and,  like  other  men,  I  may  some  day  set  the  imperious  feet  of 
femcy  upon  the  neck  of  judgment  and  sound  reason.  As  yet,  I 
have  not  met  the  perfect  character  whom  I  could  ask  to  beat 
my  name ;  still,  I  may  be  so  fortunate  as  either  to  find  my  ideai, 
or  imagine  that  I  do ;  or  else  become  so  earnestly  attached  to 
some  beautify- 1  woman,  that,  for  her  sake,  I  will  willingly  lower  my 


172  UNTIL  DEATH   :'S  DO  PART. 

lofty  standard.  These  are  the  merest  possible  contingencies,  and 
I  have  little  inclination  to  discuss  them  ;  but  1  wish  at  alJ  times 
to  be  entirely  frank  with  vou.  Salome  would  never  suit  me  a? 
a  life-long  companion.  She  meets  none  of  the  requirements  el 
my  intellectual  mature,  and  her  perverse  disposition,  and  what 
•night  almost  be  termed  diablerie,  repel  instead  of  attracting 
:jne.  I  pity  the  chiiJ,  and  can  sympathize  cordially  wit.lt  hei 
efforts  to  redeem  herself  from  the  luckless  associations  of  earliei 
years  that  wofully  distorted  her  character ;  and  I  can  truly  saj 
that  I  am  interested  in  her  welfare  and  improvement,  and  have 
a  faint  brotherly  ailection  for  her  ;  but  I  thoroughly  comprehend 
my  own  feelings  when  1  assure  you,  Janet,  that  were  Salome 
wnd  I  left  alone  in  the  world  I  could  never  for  a  moment  enter 
tain  the  idea  of  calling  such  a  wayward  child  my  wife.  Are 
you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Convinced,  at  least,  that  you  are  not  deceiving  me.  But, 
Ulpian,  the  girl  is  growing  very  beautiful  —  don't  you  think 
so  ?  —  or,  is  it  my  love  that  makes  me  see  her  through  flattering 
lenses  ?  " 

"  Her  lips  are  too  thin,  and  her  eyes  too  keen  and  restless  for 
perfect  beauty,  which  claims  repose  as  one  of  its  essential  ele 
ments  ;  but,  notwithstanding  these  flaws,  she  has  undoubtedly 
one  of  the  handsomest  faces  I  have  ever  seen,  and  certainly  a 
graceful,  fine  figure." 

"And  you  are  such  an  admirer  of  beauty,"  said  Miss  «Tane, 
Slipping  her  fingers  caressingly  into  her  brother's  hand. 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  not  deny  that  I  yield  to  no  one  in  appreciation 
of  lovely  faces ;  but,  if  I  am  aware  that,  like  some  rich  crimsor 
June  ross  whose  calyx  cradles  a  worm,  the  heart  beneath  the 
perfect  form  is  gnawed  by  some  evil  tendency,  or  shelters  vin 
dictive  passion  and  sinful  impulses,  1  should  certainly  not  select 
it  ia  making  up  the  precious  bouquet  that  is  to  shed  perfume 
*«d  beauty  in  my  home,  and  call  my  thoughts  from  the  din  and 
strife  of  the  outer  world  to  holiness  and  peace." 

"You  have  no  mercy  on  the  child." 

"  I  ought  tr  have  no  nnrcy  on  glaring  faults  which  she  should 
ere  this  have  corrected." 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  173 

"  But  slie  is  so  young  —  only  seventeen  !     Think  of  it !  " 

Dr.  Grey  frowned,  and  partially  withdrew  his  hand  from  bia 
sister's  clasp. 

"Janet,  you  grieve  me.  Surely  you  are  not  pleading  wilJn 
me  ir<  behalf  of  Salome  ?  " 

Tears  trickled  over  Miss  Jane's  sallow  cheeks  and  dripped  ci. 
the  doctor's  hand,  as  she  replied, — 

"  Bear  with  me,  Ulpian.  The  girl  is  very  dear  to  me ;  and, 
loving  you  as  she  unquestionably  does,  I  know  that  you  3ould 
make  her  a  noble,  admirable  woman,  —  for  she  has  some  fine 
traits,  and  your  influence  would  perfect  her  character.  Believe 
me,  my  dear  boy,  you,  and  you  only,  can  remould  her  heart." 

"  Possibly,  —  if  I  loved  her;  for  then  I  would  be  patient  and 
forbearing  towards  her  faults.  But  I  cannot  even  respect  that 
handsome,  fiery,  impulsive,  unreasonable  child,  much  less  love 
her ;  and,  if  I  ever  marry,  my  wife  must  be  worthy  to  remould 
my  own  defective  life  and  erring  nature.  I  am  surprised,  my 
dear  sister,  that  yon,  whose  sincere  affection  I  can  not  doubt, 
should  be  willing  to  see  me  link  my  life  with  that  of  one  so 
much  younger,  and,  I  grieve  to  say  it,  so  far  inferior  in  all 
respects.  What  congenial  companionship  could  1  promise  my 
self?  What  confidence  could  I  repose  —  what  esteem  could  I 
entertain  —  for  a  silly  girl,  who,  without  warrant  and  utterly 
unsought,  bestows  her  love  (if,  indeed,  what  you  say  be  true) 
upon  a  man  who  never  even  dreamed  of  such  folly,  and  is  old 
enough  to  be  her  father  ?  " 

"  I  can  not  comprehend  the  logic  that  condemns  Salome,  and 
justifies  your  own  mother ;  for,  if  there  be  any  difference  in  their 
lines  of  conduct,  1  am  too  stupid  to  see  it." 

Miss  Jane  lifted,  her  head  from  her  brother's  shoulder,  reso 
lutely  dried  her  eyes,  and  settled  her  cap. 

"My  mother's  tombstone  should  shelter  her  from  all  u.ni:uuui 
ersioii,  especially  from  the  I  ips  that  owe  their  existence  to  h?r. 
Do  not,  my  sister,  disturb  the  mouldering  ashes  of  the  long- 
buried  past.  The  unfortunate  fact  you  have  mentioned,  and 
which  I  should  gladly  doubt  if  you  would  only  permit  me  to  uc 
so,  render?  it  necessary  for  me  to  be  perfectly  candid  wii  you, 
15* 


J74  UNTIL  DEATH  UJS   DO  PART. 

and  you  will,  1  trust,  pardon  what  I  feel  compelled  to  say  to  you 
I  have  remarked  that  you  watch  me  quite  closely  Avhenever  ] 
ain  engaged  in  conversation  with  my  ward  or  her  governess 
and  yesterday,  when  Muriel  came,  stood  by  me,  and  leaned  her 
arm  nn  my  shoulder,  you  frowned  and  looked  harshly  at  the 
child.  Once  for  all,  let  me  tell  you  that  there  is  no  more  possi 
bility  of  my  loving  Muriel  or  Edith,  than  Salome.  Of  the  three, 
I  care  most  for  Muriel,  who  looks  upon  me  as  her  second  father, 
and  to  whom  I  am  deeply  attached.  If  I  :aress  the  poor, 
stricken  child,  and  allow  her  to  approach  me  familiarly,  you  ought 
to  understand  your  brother  sufficiently  well  not  to  ascribe  his 
conduct  to  any  feeling  which  he  would  blush  to  confess  to  his 
sister.  The  day  before  Horace  died,  he  said,  *  Be  a  father  to 
my  daughter ;  take  my  place  when  I  am  gone.'  If  I  were  at 
liberty  to  divulge  some  matters  confided  to  me,  I  could  easily 
assure  you  that  there  is  not  a  shadow  of  possibility  that  Muriel 
will  ever  grieve  and  mortify  me  as  Salome  has  done.  Now  look 
at  me,  dear  Janet,  and  kiss  me,  and  trust  your  brother ;  for  he 
will  never  deceive  you,  and  can  not  endure  a  moment's  estrange 
ment  from  you." 

Miss  Jane  pxit  up  her  lips  for  the  caress,  and,  after  a  sho~t 
silence,  Dr.  Grey  continued, — 

"  Tell  me  now  what  you  think  best  under  the  circumstances, 
and  I  will  endeavor  to  cooperate  with  you.  Does  Salome  know 
you  are  cognizant  of  her  weakness  —  her  misfortune  —  " 

He  stammered,  and  again  his  face  flushed. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Ulpian,  you  are  positively  blushing !  Don't 
worry  yourself,  dear,  over  what  can  not  be  helped,  or  at  least  13 
attributable  to  no  fault  of  yours.  No  ;  you  may  be  sure  Salome 
would  be  drawn,  quartered,  and  broiled,  before  she  would  confess 
fo  me  the  feeling  which  she  does  not  suspect  I  have  discovered 
Poor  thing !  I  can't  avoid  pitying  her  whenever  you  take 
Muriel's  hand  or  caress  her  in  any  way.  This  morning  you 
smoothed  the  hair  back  from  her  forehead  while  she  was  stoop 
ing  over  hei  drawing,  and  poor  Salome's  eyes  flashed  and  looked 
like  a  leopard's.  She  cl  inched  her  fingers  as  if  she  were  strangling 
something,  and  an  expression  came  over  her  face  that  was 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART.  17i 


gerous,  and  made  me  shiver  a  little.     Something  intuit  be 
but  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  what  tc  advise." 

"  How  futile  and  mocking  are  merely  human  schemes  1  My 
principal  object  in  bringing  Muriel  and  Miss  Dexter  here,  wa* 
to  provide  agreeable  and  improving  companions  for  your  pot 
and  to  afford  her  the  privilege  of  sharing  the  educational  advan 
tuges  which  Muriel  enj  oyed.  Uh&mme  propose^  et  Dieu  dispose, 
Lf,  indeed,  an  occurrence  so  earnestly  to  be  deplored  can  be  deemed 
providential.  What  are  her  plans  relative  to  Jessie  ?  " 

"If  she  has  matured  any,  she  keeps  them  shut  up  in  her  own 
heart.  Once  she  talked  freely  to  me  on  all  subjects,  but  recently 
she  seems  to  avoid  acquainting  me  with  her  intentions  or 
schemes.  Of  course,  Ulpian,  you  know  I  have  always  expected 
to  leave  her  a  portion  of  my  property." 

"  Certainly,  dear  Janet  ;  you  ought  to  provide  comfortably 
for  the  girl  whom  you  have  taught  to  rely  upon  your  bounty. 
It  would  be  cruel  and  unpardonable  to  foster  hopes  that  you 
could  not  fully  realize." 

"  It  was  my  intention  to  put  into  your  hands  the  share  I 
intended  for  her,  and  to  leave  her  also  to  your  care,  when  I  die  ; 
but  now  I  know  not  what  is  best.  If  she  could  be  separated 
from  you,  she  might  divert  her  thoughts  and  become  interested 
in  other  things  or  persons  ;  but  so  long  as  you  are  in  the  same 
house  I  know  there  will  be  nothing  but  wretchedness  and  dis 
appointment  for  her." 

.After  a  long  pause,  dming  which  Dr.  Grey  looked  seriously 
pained  and  perplexed,  he  said,  sorrowfully,  — 

"  You  are  rig]  it  in  thinking  .separation  would  be  best;  and  J 
will  go  away  at  once  — 

"Go  where?  "  exclaimed  his  sister,  grasping  his  coat  -sleeve. 

"  1  will  furnish  the  rooms  over  my  office,  and  live  there-.  Ifc 
will  be  mere  convenient  for  my  business;  but  I  dislike  to  leavo 
you  and  the  dear  old  homestead." 

"Stuff!  You  will  churn  thi>  Atlantic,  \vith  the  North  Pole 
for  a  dasher!  Ulpiaii  (I'/cy!  coine  sv<  •;•..]  come  wo<>,  I  don't 
intend  :o  give  you  up.  Here,  rig]  it  here,  you  will  live  whila 
there  is  breath  in  my  body,  —  unless  you  wish  to  make  me  sob 


176  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 


t  out  and  die  tlie  sooner.  Pooh  !  Salome's  >.Li:.iE£  eye*  ^ae 
not.  i-ppompense  me  for  the  loss  of  my  boy's  blue  OPVS,  and  I 
will  not  hear  of  such  nonsense  as  the  move  you  propose.  You 
know,  dear,  I  can't  be  here  very  long  at  the  best,  and  -while  God 
spares  me  I  want  you  near  me.  Besides,  the  separation  of  a  fe-w 
miles  would  not  be  worth  a  thimbleful  of  chaff;  for,  of  course. 
Salome  would  hear  of  or  see  you  daily,  and  the  change  would 
amount  to  nothing  but  anxiety  and  grief  on  my  part.  We  will 
tliink  the  matter  over,  and  do  nothing  rashly.  But  try  to  be 
patient  with  my  little  girl  ;  and,  for  my  sake,  Ulpian,  do  not 
allow  her  to  suspect  that  you  dream  of  her  feeling  towards  you. 
It  is  pitiable,  —  it  is  distressing  beyond  expression  ;  and  God 
knows,  if  I  had  thought  for  an  instant  that  such  a  state  of  things 
would  ever  have  come  to  pass,  1  would  have  left  ht  .  in  ;Lo 
poor-house  sooner  than  have  been  instrumental  in  bringing  sncb 
misery  upon  her  young  life.  Last  night  I  was  suffering  so  much 
with  my  shoulder  that  I  could  not  sleep,  and  I  heard  the  chile 
pacing  her  room  until  after  throe  o'clock.  It  was  useless  to 
question  her  ;  for,  of  course,  she  would  not  confess  the  real  cause, 
and  I  did  not  wish  her  to  know  that  I  noticed  what  1  could  not 
cure.  But,  my  dearest  boy,  we  are  not  to  be  blamed  ;  so  don't 
look  so  mortified  and  grieved.  I  would  not  have  opened  your 
unsuspecting  eyes  if  I  had  not  feared  that  your  ignorance  of  the 
truth  might  mcrcase  the  trouble,  and  I  knew  I  could  safely 
appeal  to  my  sailor-boy's  honor.  Now  you  know  all,  and  must 
be  guided  by  your  own  good  sense  and  delicacy  in  your  future 
course  toward  the  poor,  proud  young  thing.  Be  guarded,  Ulpian, 
and  don't  torment  her  by  petting  Muriel  in  her  presence  ;  for 
sometimes  I  am  afraid  there  is  bad  blood  in  h^r  veins,  that 
brings  that  wicked  glow  to  her  eyes,  and  I  dread  that  she  miglu 
suddenly  say  or  do  some  desperate  thing  that  would  plunge  us 
all  in  SOITOW.  You  know  she  is  not  a  meek  creature,  and  we 
must  pity  her  weakness." 

Dr.  Grey  had  grown  very  pale,  and  the  profourd  regret  printed 
on  his  countenance  found  expression  also  in  the  deepened  and 
saddened  tones  of  his  voioe. 

"  Trust  me,  Janet  !     I  will  do  all  a  man  can  to  rectify  tht 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  17 

mischief,  of  which,  God  knows,  1  have  beeu  an  innocent  ana 
entirely  unintentional  cause.  Salome's  course  is  unwomanly, 
and  lowers  her  in  my  estimation;  but  she  is  so  young  I  shall 
hope  and  pray  that  her  preference  for  me  is  not  sufficiently 
strong  to  prove  more  than  an  idle,  fleeting,  girlish  fancy." 

He  took  his  gloves  from  the  table  and  left  the  room ;  and,  for 
*jc;ae  time  after  his  departure,  his  sister  sat  rocking  herself  to  «n;  .* 
fro,  pondering  all  that  had  passed.  Finally,  sl\o  struck  her  \\y.\\i\ 
decisively  upon  the  cushioned  top  of  her  crutch,  and  muttered,  -  ~- 

"Yes,  he  certainly  is  as  nearly  perfect  as  humanity  can  be; 
but,  after  all,  Ulpian  Grey  is  only  flesh  and  blood,  and  despite 
his  efforts  to  crush  it,  there  must  be  some  vanity  hidden  rnder 
lis  proud  humility,  —  for  certainly  he  is  both  humble  in  one 
sense,  and  inordinately  proud  in  another ;  and  I  do  not  believe 
there  lives  a  man  of  his  age  who  would  not  be  flattered  by  the 
iove  of  a  fresh  young  beauty  like  Salome.  He  thinks  now  that 
he  is  distressed  and  mortified;  and,  of  course,  he  is  honest  in 
what  ho  tells  me;  but  I  have  studied  human  nature  to  very- 
little  purpose  for  the  last  fifty  years,  if,  before  long,  he  does  not 
find  himself  more  interested  in  Salome  than  ho  will  be  willing  to 
confess.  Her  love  for  him  will  invest  her  with  a  charm  she 
never  possessed  before,  for  men.  are  vulnerable  as  women  to  the 
cunning  advances  of  flatteiy.  One  thing  is  as  sure  and  clear 
as  tli  at  two  and  two  make  four,  —  if  he  is  proof  against  Salome's 
devotion  it  will  be  attributable  to  the  fact  that  he  gives  his  heart 
to  some  one  else  ;  and  I  thought  his  blue  eyes  rather  shied  away 
from  mine  when  he  said  he  had  yet  to  meet  the  woman  lie  could 
marry.  You  don't  intend  to  deceive  me,  my  precious  bov.  I 
know  you  don't;  but  I  should  not  be  astounded  if  you  hnu 
hoodwinked  yourself,  —  a  very  little.  But  'sufficient  unto  UH- 
.lay  Ls  'he  evil  thereof,'  and  I  will  wait,  —  and  we  shall  see  v.'l:sai 

,fG  Khali  SPQ." 


178  CTNTT-T.  PEATII  US   DO  PAST. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ISLE,  it  is  worse  than  useless  to  talk  to  me.  Qnca 
I  could  listen  tc  you,  —  once  I  felt  as  you  do  ncv/; 
l)ut  that  time  has  gone  by  forever.  I  will  read  to 
you  as  often  as  you  desire  it,  provided  you  do  not  make  every 
chapter  a  text  for  a  sermon.  What  do  you  wish  to  hear  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  The  fortieth  Psalm." 

Mrs.  Gerome  opened  the  bible,  and,  when  she  had  finished  tb? 
;jaalm  designated,  shut  the  book  and  laid  it  back  close  to  Elsie's 
pillow. 

The  old  woman  placed  her  hand  on  the  round,  white  arm  of 
her  mistress,  who  rested  carelessly  against  the  bed. 

"  You  know,  my  child,  that  .David's  afflictions  were  sore 
indeed ;  but  he  declares,  '  I  waited  patiently  for  the  Lord,  and 
he  inclined  unto  me,  and  heard  my  cry.'  You  will  not  be 
patient,  and  irtd  can't  help  you  till  you  are.  We  are  like 
children  punished  for  bad  conduct,  —  as  long  as  we  rebel  and 
straggle,  of  course  we  must  be  still  further  chastised ;  but  the 
moment  we  show  real  penitence,  our  parents  notice  that  we  are 
bearing  correction  patiently,  and  then  they  throw  away  the  rod 
and  stretch  out  their  arms,  and  snatch  us  close  to  their  loving 
hearts.  Even  so  God  holds  one  hand  to  draw  us  tenderly 
to  Him ;  and,  if  we  are  obstinately  sinful,  with  the  other  He 
scourges  us  into  the  right  path,  —  determined  to  help  us,  even 
agaicst  our  own  wills.  Ah,  if  I  could  see  you  waiting  patiently 
for  the  Lord  !  " 

"  You  will  never  see  it.  Patience  was  *  scourged '  out  of  me, 
and  now  I  stan  1  still  because  I  am  worn  out  with  struggling, 
•waiting  —  not  patiently,  but  wearily  and  helplessly  —  to  see  tha 
end  of  my  punishment.  What  have  T  done  that  I  should  feign 
&  penitence  I  shall  never  feel?  I  was  a  happy,  trusting,  un 
offending  woman,  when  God  smote  me  fiercely;  and,  because  I 
vas  so  innocent,  I  could  not  kiss  my  stinging  rod,  I  grappled 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  179 

desperately  with  it.     Elsie,  don't  stir  up  the  bitter  dregs  in  my 
soul,  and  mix  them  with  every  thought.      Let  them  settle.'' 

"  My  darling,,  [  don't  want  them  to  settle,.  [  pray  eithei 
that  they  may  be  stirred  up  and  taken  out,  or  sweetened  by  th« 
grace  of  God.  Do  you  ew  r  tliink  of  the  day  when  you  wii; 
£ice  your  sainted  mother'?  " 

"No.  I  tliink  only  of  enduring  this  present  life  until  ifc*ithf 
my  deliverer,  comes  to  my  rescue." 

''But,  my  bairn,  you  are  not  fit  to  die.'1 

"Fit  to  die  a.s  to  live,1'  answered  her  mistress,  morosely. 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  flout  the  Almighty  ia  that  wicked 
manner!  if  you  would  only  be  l/apti/ed  and  take  refuge  in 
prayer,  as  every  Christian  should,  you  would  find  peace  for 
your  poor,  miserable  soul." 

"  No  ;  peace  can't  be  poured  out  of  a  pitcher  with  the  baptis 
mal  water  ;  and  all  the  "waves  tossing  and  glittering  out  there 
in  the  ocean  could  not  wash,  one  painful  memory  from  my 
heart.  I  have  had  one  baptism, and  it  was  ample  and  thorough. 
I  went  down  into  the  waters  of  woe,  and  all  their  black 
billows  broke  over  me.  Instead  of  the  Jordan,  I  was  immersed 
in  the  Dead  Sea,  and  the  asphaltum  cleaves  to  me." 

"  Oil,  dearie,  you  will  break  my  heart !  1  wish  now  that  you 
had  died  when  you  were  only  fourteen  months  old,  for  then 
there  would  have  been  one  more  precious  lamb  in  the  flock  of 
the  Good  Shepherd,  safe  in  heavenly  pastures  —  one  more  dear 
tittle  golden  head  nestling  on  Jesus'  bosom,  —  instead  of — 
of—" 

Elkde's  emotion  mastered  her  voice,  and  she  sobbed  con 
vulsively. 

"  Why  did  not  you  finish  ?  '  Instead  of  a  gray  head  waiting 
So  go  down  into  the  pit  of  perdition.'  Yes.  it  was  a  tenible 
blunder  that  I  was  not  allowed  to  die  in  my  infancy ;  but  it 
san't  be  helped  now,  and  I  wish  yo  i  would  not  fret  yourself 
into  a  fever  over  the  irremediable.  Why  will  you  persist  in 
tormenting  yourself  and  me  about  my  want  of  resignation  and 
faith,  when  you  know  that  exhortation  and  persuasion  have  no 
more  effect  upon  me  than  the  whistle  of  the  plover  down  yonde* 


180  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

in  the  sedge  and  sea-weed,  —  where  I  heartily  wish  I  were  lying, 
ten  feet  under  the  shells?  Rather  a  damp  pillow  for  my 
fastidious,  proud  head,  but,  at  least,  cool  and  quiet.  Calm 
yourself,  my  dear  Elsie,  for  God  will  not  hold  you  responsible 
if  I  miss  my  place  among  the  saints,  when  He  divides  the  sheep 
from  the  goats,  in  the  last  day,  —  Dies  irce,  dies  iLla,.  Let  me 
straighten  your  pillow  and  smooth  your  cap- border,  for  I  set; 
y  3ur  doctor  coming  up  the  walk.  There,  —  dry  your  eyes. 
When  you  want  rue,  send  Ilobert  or  Katie  to  call  me." 

Mrs.  Geronie  leaned  over  the  helpless,  prostrate  form  on  the 
bed,  pressed  her  cheek  against  that  of  her  nurse,  where  teara 
still  glistened,  and  glided  swiftly  out  of  the  room  just  before 
Dr.  Grey  entered. 

Nevei  had  he  seen  his  patient  so  completely  unnerved ;  but, 
observing  her  eiforts  to  compose  herself,  he  forbore  any  allusion 
to  an  agitation  which  he  suspected  was  referable  to  mental 
rather  than  physical  causes.  Bravely  the  stubborn  woman 
struggled  to  steady  her  voice,  and  still  the  twitching  tell-tale 
muscles  about  her  mouth ;  but  the  burden  of  anxiety  finally 
bore  down  all  resolves,  and,  covering  her  face  with  her  broad 
hand,  she  wept  unrestrainedly. 

In  profound  silence  Dr.  Grey  sat  beside  her  for  nearly  five 
minutes;  then,  fearful  that  the  excitement  might  prove  injurious, 
i">e  said,  gently, — 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  suffering  so  severely  from  bodily  pain  ? 
What  distresses  you,  my  good  woman  ?  Perhaps,  if  I  knew 
Mie  cause,  I  might  be  able  to  render  you  some  service." 

"  It  is  not  my  body,  —  that,  you  know,  is  numb,  and  gives 
.as  no  pain,  - — but  my  mind  !  Doctor,  I  am  suffering  in  mind, 
hud  you  have  no  medicine  that  can  ease  that." 

"  Possibly  I  may  accomplish  more  than  you  imagine  IB  withir; 
i-each.  of  uiy  remedies.  Of  one  thing  you  may  rest  assured,  — 
fou  will  never  Lave  reason  to  regrec  any  confidence  you  maj 
i-epose  in  me." 

"  Dr.  Criey,  1  believe  you  are  a  Christian ;  at  least,  I  have 
jteard  &o  ;  ««itl,  since  my  allliction,  I  have  been  wutcMug  you 


UNTIL  JjEATH   U8  DO  PART.  181 

rery  closely,  and  begin  to  think  I  can  trust  you.  Are  you  a 
member  of  the  church  ?  " 

u  I  am  ;  although  that  fact  alone  should  not  entitle  me  to 
your  confidence.  We  are  all  erring,  and  full  of  faults,  but  I 
endeavor  to  live  in  such  a  manner  that  I  shall  not  bring  disgrace 
^j«?n  the  holy  faith  I  profess." 

"  Shut  the  door,  and  come  back  to  me." 

lie  bolted  the  door,  which  stood  ajar,  and  resumed  his  seat, 

"  Dr.  Grey,  I  know  as  well  as  vou  do  that  T  can't  last  a  great 
while,  and  I  ought  to  prepare  for  what  may  overtake  me  any 
day.  I  have  tried  to  live  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  God, 
a.ml  I  am  not  afraid  to  die  ;  but  I  am  afraid  to  leave  my  mistress 
behind  me.  YvTien  1  am  gone  there  will  be  no  one  to  watch 
over  and  plead  with  her,  and  1  dread  lest  Lor  precious  soul  may 
be  lost.  She  won't  go  to  God  for  herself,  or  by  her.srif,  and 
who  will  pray  for  her  salvation  when  I  arn  in  my  shroud  ?  Oh, 
I  can  not  die  in  peace,  leaving  her  alone  in  the  world  she  hates 
and  despises  !  What  will  become  of  my  poor,  bonnie  bairn  ?  " 

Elsie  sobbed  aloud,  and  Dr.  Grey  asked,  — 

"Has  Mrs.  Gerome  no  living  relatives?" 

"  Is  one,  sir,  in  America.  There  are  some  cousins  in  Scotland, 
but  she  has  never  seen  them,  and  never  will." 

"  Where  are  the  members  of  her  husband's  family  ?  " 

A  visible  shudder  crept  over  that  portion  of  the  woman's 
body  which  wus  not  paralyzed,  and  her  face  grew  dark  and 


"He  was  an  orphan." 

"  His  loss  seems  to  have  had  a  teixible  effect  upon  Mrs. 
Gerome,  and  rendered  her  bitter  and  hopeless." 

"  How  hopeless,  none  but  she  and  I  and  the  God  above  us 
know.  Once  she  was  the  meekest,  sweetest  spirit,  that  ever 
gladdened  a  nurse's  heart,  and  I  bought  the  world  wus  blessed 
by  her  coming  into  it;  but  now  sue  is  sacrilegious  and  scoffing, 
and  almost;  dares  the  Lord's  judgments.  Dr.  Grey,  it  would 
nearly  freeze  your  blood  to  hear  her  sometimes.  Poor  thing! 
sue  will  have  no  companions,  and  so  has  a  habit  of  talking  tu 
tier-self,  and  1  often  hear  her  arguing  with  the  Almighty  about 
16 


182  UNTIL  DEATH  US  1)0  PART. 

her  life,  and  the  trouble  He  allowed  to  fall  into  it.  Last  night 
fihe  was  walking  there  under  my  window,  begging  God  to  take 
her  out  of  the  world  before  I  die.  Begging,  did  i  say?  Nay,-  - 
demanding.  My  precious,  pretty  bairn  !  " 

"  Elsie,  be  candid  with  me.  Is  not  Mrs.  Gerome  pai  tinlK 
ieranged?  " 

She  struggled  violently  to  raise  herself,  but  failing,  her  head 
&]]  back,  and  she  lifted  her  finger  angrily. 

"  No  more  deranged  than  you  or  I.  That  is  a  vile  slander  of 
bnsybodies  vhoru  she  will  not  receive,  and  who  take  it  for 
granted  that  no  lady  in  her  sov.nd  senses  would  refuse  the 
privilege  of  gossiping  with  them.  She  is  as  sane  as  any  one, 
though  there  is  an  unnatural  appearance  about  her,  and  if  her 
heart  was  only  as  sound  as  her  head  I  could  die  easily.  They 
started  the  report  of  craziness  long,  long  ago,  in  order  to  get 
hold  of  her  fortune ;  but  it  wa,«  too  infamous  a  scheme  to 
succeed." 

Elsie's  strong  white  teeth  were  firmly  set,  and  her  clenched 
fingers  did  not  relax. 

"  Who  started  the  report  of  her  insanity  ?  " 

"One  who  injured  her,  and  made  her  what  you  see  her." 

"She  had  no  children?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  Once  I  begged  her  to  adopt  a  pretty  little  orphan 
girl  we  saw  in  Athens,  but  she  ridiculed  me  for  an  old  fool,  and 
asked  me  if  I  wished  to  see  her  warm  a  viper  to  sting  what  was 
left  of  her  heart." 

"  Mrs.  Gerome  has  indulged  her  grief  for  her  husband's  loss, 
until  she  has  become  morbidly  sensitive.  She  should  go  into 
the  world,  and  interest  herself  in  benevolent  schemes ;  and, 
ultimately,  her  diseased  thoughts  would  flow  into  new  and 
healthful  channels.  The  secluded  life  she  leads  is  a  hot-bed  for 
ike  growth  of  noxious  fungi  in  heart  and  mind.  If  you  possess 
*ny  influence  over  her,  persuade  her  to  re-enter  society.  She  i? 
still  ycung  enougl  to  find  not  only  a  cure  for  her  grief,  bat  an 
%mple  share  of  even  earthly  happiness." 

Elsie  sighed,  and  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 

'*  Yon  Jo  not  know  all,  ->r  you  would  uoiderstard  that  in  'hi* 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  183 

world  she  can  not  expect  much  happiness.  Besides,  sb«  in 
peculiarly  sensitive  about  her  appearance ;  %nd,  of  course,  whec 
sh<>  is  seen,  people  stare,  and  wonder  how  such  a  young  thing 
get  that  pile  of  white  hair.  That  is  the  reason  she  quit  travel 
ling  and  shut  herself  up  here." 

"Was  it  grief  that  prematurely  silvered  her  hair?1* 

u  Yes.  sir ;  it  was  as  black  as  your  coat,  until  her  trouble 
UUDO ;  and  then  in  a  fortnight  it  turned  as  gray  as  you  see  it 
low.  Doctor,  1  said  she  was  not  deranged,  and  I  spoke  truly ; 
imt  sometimes  J  have  feared  that,  when  I  am  gone,  she  might 
jrt  desperate,  and,  in  her  loneliness,  destroy  herself.  You  are 
i  sensible  man,  and  can  hold  your  tongue,  and  I  feel  that  I  ca» 
trust  you.  Now,  I  know  that  Robert  loves  her,  and  while  he 
lives  will  serve  her  faithfully ;  but  you  are  wiser  than  my  son, 
and  I  should  be  better  satisfied  if  I  left  her  in  your  charge,  when 
T  go  home.  Will  you  promise  me  to  take  care  of  her,  and  to 
try  to  comfort  her  in  the  day  when  she  sees  me  buried?" 

"  Elsie,  you  impose  upon  me  a  duty  which  T  am  afraid  Mrs. 
Gerome  will  not  allow  me  to  discharge;  and,  since  she  is  so 
exceedingly  averse  to  meeting  strangers,  I  should  not  feel 
justified  in  thrusting  myself  into  her  presence." 

"  Not  even  to  prevent  a  crime  ?  " 

"  I  hope  that  your  excited  imagination  and  anxio.is  heart 
exaggerate  the  possibility  of  the  danger  to  which  you  allude." 

"  No ;  exaggeration  is  not  one  of  my  habits,  ""d  I  know  my 
mistress  better  than  she  knows  herself.  .She  thinks  that  suicide 
is  not  a  sin,  but  says  it  is  cowardly;  and  she  utterly  detest*1 
and  loathes  cowardice.  Dr.  (3 rev,  I  coi,.d  riot  rest  quictlv  in 
my  coffin  if  she  is  left  alone  in  this  dreary  house,  after  t  a?u 
carried  to  my  long  home.  Will  you  stay  here  awhile,  or  taku 
her  to  your  house,- — at  least  for  a  short  time?  " 

"  1  will,  at  all  events,  promise  to  comply  with  your  wishes  at 
fully  as  she  will  permit.  But  recollect  that  I  an:  comparativ  ]-- 
A  stranger  to  her,  and  her  haughty  reception  of  me  the  day  1  wag 
compelled  V'O  come  here  on  your  account,  does  not  encourage  KIR 
to  presume  in  future  Respect  for  her  wishes,  however  umr*» 


184  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

sonabls,  and  respect  for  myself,  would  forbid  an  ii.iniHion  o» 
my  part." 

"  If  you  saw  an  utter  stranger  drowning,  would  fear  of  being 
considered  presumptuous  or  impertinent  prevent  your  trying 
to  save  him  ?  Your  self-love  should  not  hold  you  back  from  a 
Christian  duty." 

"And  you  may  rest  assured  that  it  never  shall,  when  I  feel 
that  interference  —  no  matter  how  unwelcome  or  ungraciously 
receiv^i  —  will  prove  beneficial.  But  remember  that  your 
mistreat*  is  eccentric  and  shrinking,  and  all  efforts  to  befriend 
her  must  be  made  very  cautiously." 

"  True,  doctor ;  yet  sometimes,  instead  of  consulting  her,  it  is 
best  to  treat  her  as  a  wilful  child.  I  believe  you  could  obtair 
some  influence  over  her  if  you  would  only  try  to  break  the 
ice,  because  phe  has  spoken  kindly  of  you  several  times  since  I 
have  been  f«>  helpless,  and  asked  what  she  could  do  to  show  her 
gratitude  for  your  goodness  to  me.  Yesterday  she  said  she 
intended  to  direct  Robert  to  take  some  fine  fruit  to  your  house , 
and  she  remarked  that  your  eyes  were,  in  comparison  with  other 
folks',  what  Sabbath  is  to  working  week-days,  —  were  so  full  of 
rest,  that  tired  anxious  people  might  be  refreshed  by  looking  at 
them.  Sir,  that  is  more  than  I  have  heard  her  utter  for  seven 
years  about  anybody ;  and,  therefore,  I  think  you  might  do  her 
some  good." 

Dr.  Grey  shook  his  head,  but  remained  silent ;  and  presently 
Elsie  touched  his  arm,  and  continued, — 

"  There  is  something  I  wish  to  say  to  you  before  I  die,  but 
not  now.  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  when  you  see  my  end 
is  indeed  at  hand,  you  will  tell  me  in  time  to  let  me  talk  a  little 
to  you.  Will  you  ?  " 

"  You  may  linger  for  months,  and  it  is  possible  that  you  maj 
lie  quite  suddenly ;  consequently,  it  might  be  impracticable  fot 
me  to  fulfil  the  promise  you  require.  Still,  if  I  can  do  so,  1  will 
certainly  comply  with  your  wishes.  Would  it  not  be  bottt.-  to 
tell  me  at  once  what  you  desire  me  to  know  ?  " 

"  While  I  live  it  is  not  necessary  that  any  one  should  kaow 
aad  it  is  only  when  I  am  about  to  die  that  I  shall  speak  to  *  ou 


UNTIL    DEATH  US  DO  PART.  IBS 


For  my  sake,  for  humanity's  sa,ke,  try  to  beccme  ai 

with  my  mistress  and  make  her  like  you,  as  she  certainly  will, 

if  she  only  knows  you." 

A  tap  at  the  door  interrupted  the  conversation,  and  soot 
ifter,  Dr.  Grey  quitted  the  sick-room. 

lie  paused  in  the  hall  to  examine  a  fine  copy  of  Ijandseer'a 
''  Old  Shepherd's  Chief  Mourner,"  and,  while  he  stood  before  it, 
i  targ3  greyhound  started  up  from  the  mat  at  the  front  door, 
and  bounded  towards  him.  Simultaneously  Mrs.  Geroms 
appeared  at  the  threshold  of  the  parlor. 

"  Come  here,  sir  !     Poor  fellow,  come  here  !  " 

The  dog  obeyed  her  instantly  ;  and,  pressing  close  to  her, 
looked  up  wistfully  in  her  face. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Gerome.  I  must  thank  you  for  coming 
«o  promptly  M  my  assistance.  I  have  never  seen  this  dog  until 
to-day,  and,  consequently,  was  not  on  my  guard." 

"He  arrived  only  yesterday,  mid  is-  .so  overjoyed  to  be  with 
me  once  Tiore  that  he  allows  no  one  eis<  vo  approach." 

"He  is  oy  iai  'he  handsomest  dog  i  have  e\er  seen  in 
America." 

"Yes,  I  had  great  difficulty  in  obtaining  ftiiu.  My  agent 
assures  me  that  he  belongs  to  the  best  mat  -m>  r»ar.>d  in  the 
tribe  of  Beni  Lam  ;  and  that  he  is  a  genuine  Arab,  there  can  be 
no  doubt." 

"  How  long  have  you  owned  him  ?  " 

"  Two  years.  Unfortunately  ho  was  bitten  by  a  snake  one 
day  while  wandering  with  me  among  the  ruins  at  P.estum,  and 
was  so  singularly  affected  that  I  was  forced  to  leave  him  at 
Naples.  Various  causes  combined  to  delay  his  restoration  to 
me  until  last  week,  when  he  crossed  the  Atlantic  ;  and  yesterday 
h'i  went  into  ecstasies  when  I  received  him  from  the  express 
«.^Tit.  Hush!  no  growling!  Down,  sir!  Take  care,  J)r. 
<Jrcy  ;  he  Avill  bear  no  hand  but  mine,  and  it  is  rather  dangerous 
to  caress  him,  as  you  may  judge  from  the  fangs  he  is  showing 
you." 

The  dog  was  remarkably  tall,  silky,  beautifully  funned,  and 
uf  a  soft  mole-color;  and  around  his  neck  a.  eollai  formed  of 
16* 


186  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

four  iwiall  silver  chains,  bore  an  oval  silver  plate  on  which  wai 
engraved  in  German  text,  "Ich  Dien  —  Agla  Geronw" 

"  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  possession  of  such  a  treasure,'1 
said  the  visitor,  with  unf signed  admiration,  —  as,  with  the  ey* 
of  a  connoisseur,  he  noted  the  fine  points  about  the  sleek, 
slim  animal,  who  eyed  him  suspiciouslv. 

u  Thank  you.     How  is  Elsie  to-day  ?  " 

"More  nervous  than  I  have  seen  her  since  the  accident,  and 
some  of  her  symptoms  are  rather  discouraging,  though  there  ia 
no  immediate  danger.  Do  not  look  so  hopeless ;  she  may  b* 
spared  to  yoi;  for  many  months." 

"Why  will  you  not  let  ine  hope  that  she  may  ultimately 
recover  ?  " 

"Because  it  is  utterly  futile,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  deceive 
you,  even  for  an  instant.  Good  morning,  Robert." 

The  gardener  approached  with  a  large  basket  filled  with 
peaches  and  nectarines,  and,  taking  off  his  hat,  bowed  pro 
foundly. 

"  My  mistress  ordered  these  placed  in  your  buggy,  as  3 
believe  our  nectarines  ripen  earlier  than  any  others  in  the 
neighborhood." 

"Thank  you,  Maclean.  Mrs.  Gerome  is  exceedingly  kind, 
and  I  have  an  invalid  sister  who  will  enjoy  this  beautiful  fruit. 
Those  nectarines  would  not  disgrace  Smyrna  or  Damascus,  and 
are  the  first  of  the  season." 

Robert  passed  through  the  hall,  bearing  the  basket  to  the 
buggy ;  and  at  that  instant  there  was  a  startling  crash,  as  of 
some  heavy  article  failing  in  the  parlor.  The  dog  sprang  up 
with  a  howl,  and  Dr.  Grey  followed  Mrs.  Gerome  into  the  room 
to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  noise.  A  glance  sufficed  to  explain 
^hat  a  picture  in  a  heavy  frame  had  fallen  from  a  hook  abovt 
the  mantel-piece,  and  in  its  descent  overturned  some  tall  vases, 
which  now  lay  shattered  on  the  hearth.  Dr.  Grey  lifted  the 
painting  from  the  rubbish,  and,  as  he  turned  the  canvas  towards 
the  light,  Mrs.  Gerome  said,  — 

" '  Une  triste^se  implacable,  une  effroyable  fatalite  pese  #wt 
de  VwrUste.  Celct  ressemble  a  wne  malediction  ornery 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO   PART.  187 

lancee  sur  le  sort  do  VhumaniteS  There  is,  indeed,  some  fatality 
about  that  copy  of  Durer's  'Knight,  Death,  and  the  Devil,' 
which  seems  really  ill-omened,  for  this  is  the  second  time  it  ha* 
fallen.  Thank  you,  sir.  Tlie  frame  only  is  injured,  and  1  wiP 
aot  trouble  you  to  remove  it.  Let  it  lean  against  the  grate} 
until  1  have  it  rehung  more  securely." 

"It  is  too  grim  a  picture  for  these  walls,  and  stares  at  its 
companions  like  the  mummy  at  Egyptian  banquets." 

"On  the  contrary,  it  impresses  me  as  grotesque  in  comparison 
with  Durer's  'Melancholy,'  yonder,  or  with  Holbein's  '  Les 
Simulachres  de  la  mort.' " 

"Durer's  figure  of  'Melancholy'  has  never  satisfied  me,  and 
there  is  more  ferocity  than  sadness  in  the  countenance,  which 
would  serve  quite  as  well  for  one  of  the  Erinney  hunting 
Orestes,  even  in  the  adytum  at  Delphi.  The  face  is  more  sinis 
ter  than  sorrowful." 

"  Since  your  opinion  of  that  picture  coincides  so  entirely  vritl 
mine,  tell  me  whether  I  have  successfully  grasped  Coleridge's 
dim  ideal." 

Mrs.  Gerome  drew  from  a  corner  of  the  rear  room  an  easel 
containing  a  finished  but.  unfratned  picture ;  and,  gathering  up 
the  lace  curtain,  drooping  before  the  arch,  she  held  the  folds 
aside,  to  allow  the  light  to  fall  full  on  the  canvas. 

"Before  you  examine  it,  recall  the  description  that  suggested 
it." 

"I  arn  sorry  to  say  that  my  recollection  of  the  passage  u 
exceedingly  vague  and  unsatisfactory.  Will  you  oblige  me  by 
ispeatiug  it?" 

"  Excuse  me;  your  hand  is  resting  upon  the  book,  which  is 
open  at  the  fragment." 

Dr.  Grey  bowed,  ana,  lifting  the  volume  from  the  tables 
ghuieed  rapidly  over  the  lines  designated,  then  turned  to  the 
picture,  where,  indeed, 

"  Stretched  on  a  mouldering  abbey's  broadest  wall, 

Where  ruining1  ivies  propped  the  rains  steep, 
Her  folded  anus  wrapping  licr  tattered  pall, 
Had  Melancholy  i.-iuse d  herself  -M  sleep. 


188  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

The  feru  was  pressed  beneath  her  hair, 

The  dark  green  adder's  tongue  was  there; 

And  still  as  past  the  flagging  sea-gale  weak, 

The  long,  lank  leaf  bowed  fluttering  o'er  her  cbotek. 

That  pallid  cheek  was  Hushed;  her  eager  look 
Beamed  eloquent  in  slumber !     Inly  wrought, 

Imperfect  sounds  her  moving  lips  forsook, 
And  her  bent  forehead  worked  with  troubled  thought.** 

The  beautiful  face  of  the  reclining  figure  was  dreamily  hop* 
less  and  dejected,  yet  pathetically  patient ;  and,  in  the  strange 
amber  light  reflected  from  a  sunset  sea,  the  fringy  shadow  of  a 
cluster  of  fern-leaves  seemed  to  quiver  over  the  pale  brow  ana 
still  mouth,  and  floating  raven  hair,  where  the  green  snake 
glided  with,  crest  erect  and  forked  tongue  within  an  inch  of  one 
delicate,  pearly  ear.  The  gray  stones  of  the  lichen-spotted  wall, 
the  graceful  sweep  of  the  shrouding  di-ab  drapery,  whose  folds 
clung  to  the  form  and  thence  swung  down  from  the  edge  of  the 
rocky  battlement,  the  mouldering  ruins  leaning  against  the 
quiet  sky  in  the  rear,  and  the  glassy  stretch  of  topaz-tinted  sea 
in  the  foreground,  were  all  painted  with  pre-Raphaelite  exact 
ness  and  verisimilitude,  and  every  detail  attested  the  careful, 
tender  study,  with  which  the  picture  had  been,  elaborated. 

Was  it  by  accident  or  design  that  the  woman  011  the  painted 
wall  bore  a  vague,  mournful  resemblance  to  the  owner  and 
creator?  Dr.  Grey  glanced  from  Durer's  "Melancholy"  to 
the  canvas  on  the  easel;  then  his  fascinated  eyes  dwelt  on 
the  dainty  features  of  the  artist,  and  he  thought  involun 
tarily  of  another  Coleridgean  image,  —  of  the  "pilgrim  in  whom 
the  spring  and  the  autumn,  and  the  melancholy  of  both,  seemed 
to  have  combined." 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  in  this  wonderful  embodiment  of  Coleiidgt'i 
fragmentary  ideal  you  have  painted  your  own  portrait." 

"No,  sir.  Look  again.  My  'Melancholia'  lias  a  patiect 
face,  hinting  of  possible  peace.  When  I  design  its  companion, 
'Desolation,'  I  may  be  pardoned  if  my  canvas  reflects  whai 
always  fronts  it." 


UNTIL   L>&A'iU    Uti  DO   PA&l'.  189 

VI  HV  I    a*ii  «vuen  you  wiougnt  out  tins  extraordinary  oon 


"During  the  past  month.  The  last  touch  was  given  this 
morning,  and  the  paint  is  not  yet  dry  on  that  cluster  of  purplish 
•swiwoed  clinging  to  the  base  of  the  battlement.  Last  night  I 
£ntx*Jtii3d  that  Coleridge  stool  looking  over  niy  shoulder,,  and 
while  1  worked  he  touched  the  sea,  and  it  flushed  a  ruby  red 
brighter  than  laudanum  ;  and  then  he  leaned  down,  and  with  a 
pencil  wrote  E-eie  across  the  fragment  in  his  '  Sibylline 
Leaves.'  To-day  I  tried  the  elTect  of  the  hint,  but  the  amber 
water  mellows  the  woman's  features,  and  the  ruby  light  rendered 
them  sullen  and  rigid." 

"Were  I  to  judge  from  the  bizarre  themes  that  you  select,  I 
should  be  tempted  to  fear  that  the  wizard  spell  of  opium  evoked 
some  of  these  strangely  beautiful  creations  of  your  brush.  What 
suggested  this  picture  ?  " 

"You  merely  wish  to  complete  your  diagnosis  of  my  psycho 
logical  condition?  If  so,  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  hesi 
tate  to  tell  yon  that  while  I  was  playing  one  of  Chopin's  JVoc- 
tiirnes  the  significance  of  the  Polish  i2L<.il'1  perplexed  me.  In 
striving  to  analyze  it,  Coleridge's  'Melancholy'  occurred  to  my 
mind,  and  teased  and  haunted  me  until  1  wrought  it  out 
palpably.  My  work  there  means  more  than  his  fragment,  and 
includes  something  which  1  suppose  Chopin  meant  by  that 
insynonymous  word  'Zd'£.'" 

Standing  under  the  arch,  with  one  hand  holding  back  the 
lace  drapery,  the  other  hanging  nerveless  at  her  side,  she  looked 
as  weird  as  any  of  her  ideal  creations  ;  and,  in  the  greenish  sea  - 
shine  breaking  through  the  dense  foliage  of  the  trees  about  the 
house,  her  wan  face,  snowy  muslin  dress,  and  floating  white 
ribbons,  seemed  unsubstantial  as  the  figures  on  the  wall.  To-day 
'..here  was  no  spot  of  color  in  face  or  dress,  save  the  axure  gleam 
of  the  large,  brilliant  ring,  oil  her  uplifted  hand;  and,  as  Dr 
Grey  scrutinized  her  appearance,  he  found  it  diflicult  to  realixt 
that  blood  pulsed  in  that  marble  flesh,  and  warm  breath  flattered 
in  that  Gnu,  frigid  mouth.  Glauoing  around  the  rooms,  he 
said,  — 


190  UNTIL  DEATH  V8  DO  PART. 

u  Solitude  is  indeed  a  misnomer  for  a  home  peopled  with  such 
creations  as  adorn  these  walls." 

"  No.  Have  you  forgotten  the  definition  of  Epictet  as  ?  '  7i 
bf.  friendless  is  solitude" 

w 

"  I  ho{>e,  madam,  that  you  may  never  find  yourself  in  thai 
onfortunace  category,  and  certainly  there  are  — ' 

"Sir,  I  know  what  Michael  Angelo  felt  when  he  wrote  from 
Rome,  'I  have  no  friends;  I  need  none.'" 

She  interrupted  him  with  an  indescribably  haughty  gesture, 
and  an  anomalous  spasm  of  the  lips  that  belonged  to  no  known 
class  of  siniles. 

"  On  the  contrary,  Mrs.  Gerome,  the  hunger  for  true  Mentis 
has  rendered  you  morose  and  cynical." 

He  did  not  shrink  from  the  wide  eyes  that  flashed  like  blue 
steel  in  moonshine ;  and  as  his  own,  calm,  steady,  and  magnetic, 
dwelt  gravely  on  her  face,  he  fancied  she  winced,  slightly. 

"No,  sir.  When  I  hunt  or  recognize  friends,  I  shall  borrow 
Diogenes'  lantern.  Good  morning,  Dr.  Grey." 

"Pardon  me  if  I  detain  you  for  a  moment  to  inquire  who 
taught  you  to  paint." 

"  The  absolute  necessity  of  self-forgetfulness." 

"But  you  surely  had  some  tuition  in  the  art?" 

"  Yes ;  I  had  the  usual  boarding-school  privilege  of  a  master 
for  perspective,  and  pastel.  Dr.  Grey,  have  you  been  to 
Europe ?  " 

*'  Yes,  madam ;  on  several  occasions." 

"You  visited  Dresden?" 

«I  did." 

"  Step  forward  a  little,  —  there.  Now,  sir,  do  you  know  tkat 
painting  hanging  over  my  escritoire  f  " 

"It  is  Ruysdael's  ' Churchyard,'  and,  from  this  distance, 
seems  a  remarkably  fine  copy  of  that  sombre,  desolate,  ghoul- 
haunted  picture." 

"Thank  you.  That  is  the  only  piece  of  work  of  -vhich  J  fe«J 
really  proud.  Some  day,  when  the  light  is  pure  and  strongs 
come  in  and  examine  it.  Now  there  is  a  greenish  tinge  over 
all  things  in  the  room  thrown  by  s^a-shimmer  through  tLfl 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  T>0   PAJtT.  191 

flustering  leaves.  Ah,  what  a  long,  low,  presageful  moaa  that 
was,  which  broke  from  foaming  lips,  on  yonder  strand  ! " 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Gerome.  The  inspection  of  jou» 
pictures  has  yielded  me  so  much  pleasure  that  I  must  tender 
you  my  very  sincere  thanks  for  your  courtesy." 

She  bowed  distantly ;  and,  when  he  reached  his  buggy,  fca 
g]jtnced  back  and  saw  that  perfect,  pallid  face,  pressed  against 
the  cedar  facing  of  the  oriel,  looking  seaward.  He  lifted  his 
hat,  but  she  did  not  observe  the  salute;  and,  as  he  drove  away, 
she  kept  her  eyes  upon  the  murmuring  waves,  and  repeated,  as 
?rag  her  habit,  the  lines  that  chanced  to  present  themselves,  — 

"Listen  !  you  hear  the  solemn  roar 
Begin,  and  cease,  and  then  again  begin, 
With  tremulous  cadence,  slow,  and  bring 
The  eternal  note  of  sadness  in. 
Sophocles,  long  ago, 
Heard  it  on  the  .ZEgean,  and  it  brought 
Into  his  mind  the  turbid  ebb  and  flow 
Of  human  misery. " 


CHAPTER  XY. 

flSS  DEXTER,  where  is  Miiriel?"  asked  Dr. 
glancing  around   the  library,  where  the   governess 
sat  sewing,  while   Salome   read  aloud  a  passage  in 

Ariosto. 

**  She  is  not  very  well,  and  went  up  stairs,  two  hours  ago,  to 
t*t.  Do  you  wish  to  see  her  immediately?" 

'*  YeSo     Call  her  down." 

When,  the  teacher  left  the  room,  Dr.  Grey  approached  the 
fable  where  Salome  sat,  and  looked  over  her  shoulder. 

"I  went  to  the  Asylum  to-day,  and  found  little  Jessie  very 
well,  but  quite  dissatisfied  because  you  visit  her  so  rare!- 


192  UNTIL   DEATH   UK  DO  I'A'.iT. 

Yo  t  should  see  her  as  often  as  possible,  since  she  is  so  deic«* 
irtt  upon  you  for  sympathy  and  aifection." 

fc  1  do."  * 

"Miss  Dexter  gives  a  flattering  report  of  your  aptitude  ft >r 
trvj'iiriug  languages,  and  assures  me  that  you  will  soon  speak 
Dalian  fluently." 

"  Miss  Dexter  doubtless  believes  that  praise  of  a  pujd 
etleets  credit  on  the  skill  of  the  teacher.  Unfortunately  for 
her  flattering  estimate  of  me,  I  must  disclaim  all  polyglot  pro- 
o-livities,  and  have  no  intention  of  eclipsing  Mezzofauti,  Max 
M idler,  or  Giovanni  Pico  Mirandola.  I  needed,  for  a  special 
purpose,  a  limited  acquaintance  with  Italian;  and,  as  I  have 
attained  what  1  desired,  I  shall  not  trouble  myself  much  longer 
with  dictionaries  and  grammars." 

"And  that  special  purpose — " 

"Concerns  nobody  else,  consequently  I  keep  it  to  myself." 

He  turned  from  her  and  advanced  to  meet  his  ward,  who 
came  rapidly  forward,  holding  out  both  hands. 

"Doctor,  where  have  you  been  all  day?  [  did  not  see  you 
at  breakfast  or  dinner,  and  it  seems  quite  an  age  since  yesterday 
afternoon.  You  see  I  am  moping,  horribly." 

"My  dea-r  child,  I  see  you  are  looking  pale  and  weary,  which 
is  overt  and  unpardonable  treason.  I  sent  for  you  to  ask  if  it 
would  be  agreeable  to  you  to  walk,  or  drive  with  me." 

"  Certainly,  —  either  or  both." 

She  had  placed  her  hands  in  his,  and  stood  looking  up  joy 
fully  into  his  quiet  countenance. 

"  Get  your  hat,  while  I  order  my  buggy  brought  to  the  door/1 

<l  Thank  you,  my  dear  doctor.  The  very  thing  I  longed  for , 
ZR  I  noticed  you  riding  up  the  avenue.  I  never  saw  you 
im  horseback  until  to-day.  It  is  a  delightfvl  evening  for  a 
Irive." 

She  gaily  swung  his  hands,  like  a  gratified  child,  and  starts 
off  for  her  hat,  but,  ere  she  crossed  the  threshold,  turned  back. 
R-nd,  walking  up  to  her  guardian,  laid  her  arm  on  his  shou/us? 
feu  J  vhispered  something. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  193 

He  laughed,  and  put  his  hand  under  her  chin,  saying,  as  h« 

did  so, — 

"  Little  witch  !     How  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

Her  reply  was  audible  only  to  the  ears  for  which  it  waa 
framed,  and  she  darted  away,  evidently  *mich  happier  than 
she  hac1  seemed  for  many  days. 

\V  nile  awaiting  her  return,  Dr.  Grey  picked  up  her  sketch 
book,  and  was  examining  the  contents,  when  Salome  rcse  and 
hurried  towards  the  door.  As  she  passed  him,  his  back  waa 
turned,  and  her  muslin  dress  swept  within  reach  of  his  spur, 
which  caught  the  delicate  fabric.  She  impatiently  jerked  the 
dress  to  disengage  it,  \>\\i  it  clung  to  the  steel  points,  and  a  long 
rent  was  made  in  the  muslin.  With  a  half-smothered  ejacula 
tion,  she  tried  to  wrench  herself  free,  but  the  dress  only  tore 
across  the  breadth  from  seam  to  seam.  Dr.  Grey  turned,  and 
stooped  to  assist  her. 

"  Wait  an  instant,  Salome ;  you  have  almost  ruined  your 
dress." 

He  was  endeavoring  to  disentangle  the  shreds  from  the  jagged 
edge  of  the  spur,  but  she  bent  down,  and,  seizing  the  skirt  in 
both  hands,  tore  it  away,  leaving  a  large  fragment  trailing  from 
the  boot-heel. 

" '  More  haste,  less  speed.'  Patience  is  better  than  petulance, 
my  young  friend." 

His  grave,  reproving  voice,  rendered  her  defiant ;  and,  with 
a.  forced,  unnatural  laugh,  she  bowed,  and  hurried  away,  saying, 
as  she  looked  over  her  shoulder,  — 

"  And  spurs  than,  persuasion  ?     You  mistake  my  nature." 

Dr.  Grey  had  been  riding,  all  the  morning,  across  a  broken 
ftretch  of  country,  where  the  roads  were  exceedingly  insecure, 
and?  as  he  removed  the  troublesome  spur  and  laid  it  on  the 
mantel-piece,  he  folded  up  the  strip  of  muslin  and  put  it  into 
his  packet. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  you,"  cried  Muriel,  from  the  hall  door. 

He  sighed,  arid  went  to  his  buggy ;  but  the  cloud  did  not 
melt  from  his  brow,  for,  as  he  drove  off,  he  noticed  Salome V 
gleaming  eyes  peering  from  the  window  of  her  room  ;  and  pitT 
17 


194  UNTIL  DEA±'E  ffS  LO  PART. 

and  pain  mingled  in  the  emotions  with  which  he  recal.ed  hi* 
sister's  warning  words. 

"  Miuiel,  here  is  your  letter,  and,  better  still,  Gerard  will  b« 
with  us  to-morrow.  Diplomatic  affairs  brought  hin.  tempora 
rily  to  WasMngton,  and  he  will  spend  next  week  with  us.  * 
cordially  congratulate  you,  my  dear  child,  and  hastened  homa 
to  bring  you  the  good  news,  which  I  felt  assured  you  would 
prefer  to  receive  without  witnesses." 

Muriel's  blushing  face  was  bent  over  her  letter  ;  but  she  put 
her  hand  on  her  guardian  *,  and  pressed  it  vigorously. 

"  A  thousand  thanks  for  all  your  goodness  !  Gerard  writes 
tha';  it  was  through  your  influence  he  was  vnabled  to  visit 
Washington ;  and,  indeed,  dear  Dr.  Grey,  we  are  both  very 
grateful  for  your  kind  interest  in  our  happiness.  Even  poor 
papa  could  not  be  more  considerate." 

"  For  several  days  past  I  have  observed  that  you  were 
unusually  depressed,  and  that  Miss  Dexter  looked  constrained. 
Are  you  not  pleasantly  situated  in  my  sister's  house  ?  Do  not 
hesitate  to  speak  frankly." 

Muriel's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  answered,  evasively,-- 

"  Miss  Jane  is  very  kind  and  affectionate." 

"Which  means  that  Salome  is  not." 

"  Dr.  Grey,  why  does  she  dislike  me  so  seriously  ?  I  have 
tried  to  be  friendly  and  cordial  towards  her ;  but  she  constantly 
repels  me.  I  really  admire  her  very  much ;  but  I  am  afraid  she 
positively  hates  me." 

"  No,  that  is  impossible ;  but  she  is  a  very  peculiar,  and,  I  am 
sorry  to  be  forced  to  say,  an  unamiable  girl,  and  is  governed  bj 
every  idle  caprice.  I  hope  that  you  will  not  allow  yourself  to 
he  annoyed  by  any  want  of  courtesy  which  she  may  unfortu 
nately  have  displayed.  Although  a  member  of  the  household, 
Salome  has  no  right  to  dispense  or  to  withhold  the  hospitalities 
of  my  sister's  home,  or  to  insult  her  guests ;  and  I  trust  that 
her  individual  whims  will  have  no  effect  whatever  upon  you, 
unless  they  create  a  feeling  of  compassion  and  toleration  in 
your  kind  heart.  She  has  some  good  traits  hidden  under  her 


UNTIL   DEATH    US  DO  PAilT. 

bru»ifUffriet  and  when  jou  know  her  better  you  will  excuse  hes 
rudeness." 

''  Why  Li  she  HO  moody  ?  I  have  not  seen  a  pleasant  smila 
031  her  face  since  I  came  here." 

"  My  dear  child,  let  us  select  some  more  agreeable  topic  fo * 
discussion.  Gerard  will  probably  arrive  on  the  early  train, 
•vhich  will  enable  him  to  breakfast  with  us  to-morrow.  lie 
yill  endeavor  to  persuade  you  to  return  at  once  to  Europe;  but 
1  must  tell  you,  in  advance  of  his  proposal,  that  I  hope  you  will 
H3t  yield  to  hi*  wishes,  since  it  would  grieve  me  to  part  with 
you  so  soon." 

Muriel  turned  aside  her  head  to  avoid  her  guardian's  pene 
trating  gaze,  and  silently  listened  to  his  counsel  concerning  the 
course  she  should  pursue  towards  her  betrothed. 

For  a  year  they  had  been  affianced  without  the  knowledge  of 
her  father,  from  whom  she  had  boon  separated;  but  the  frank 
ness  with  which  both  had  discussed  the  matter  with  Dr.  Grey 
forbade  the  possibility  of  his  withholding  his  approbation  of 
the  engagement ;  though  he  assured  them  he  could  not  consent 
to  its  speedy  consummation,  as  Muriel  was  too  young  and  child 
ish  to  appreciate  the  grave  responsibility  of  such  a  step.  Ge 
rard  Granville  was  several  years  older  than,  his  betrothed,  and 
Dr.  Grey  had  been  astonished  at  his  choice;  but  a  long  and  inti 
mate  acquaintance  led  him  to  esteem  the  young  man  so  highly, 
that,  while  he  felt  that  Muriel  was  far  interior,  lie  strove  to 
stimulate  her  ambition,  and  hoped  ,she  would  one  day  be  fully 
worthy  of  him. 

To-day  Dr.  Grey  drove  for  an  hour  through  quiet,  unfre- 
jaented  country  roads;  and  finally,  when  Muriel  expressed  her 
•self  anxious  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sea  and  a  breath  of  ita 
brine,  he  turned  into  a  narrow  track  that  led  down  to  orme 
fishermen's  huts  on  the  beach. 

While  they  paused  on  the  edge  of  the  low,  yellow  strand, 
and  inhaled  the  fresh  ocean  air,  Dr.  Grey  grew  .silent,  and  Jus 
companion  foil  into  a  blissful  reverie  relative  to  to  morrow's 
events.  Suddenly  he  placed  his  hand  on  her  arrr,  and  Raid, 
w  LisVji). !  What  a  wonderfully  sweet,  flexible  voice  !  Surely, 


196  UNTIL  DEATH  US  .DO  tART. 

fishermen's  wives  are  not  singing  Mendelssohn's  compositions  f 
Did  you  hear  that  gush  of  melody?  It  comes  not  from  that 
house,  but  seems  floating  from  the  opposite  direction.  Such 
strains  almost  revive  one's  faith  in  the  Hindoo  Gandhwrvaa, — 
srusical  genii,  filling  the  air  with  ravishing  sounds.  There  !  ia 
it  not  exquisite?  Hold  these  reins  while  I  ascertain  who  owns 
that  marvellous  voice." 

Eager  and  curious  as  a  boy,  he  sprang  from  the  buggy,  and. 
following  the  bend  of  the  beach,  passed  two  small  deserted  huts, 
and  plunged  into  a  grove  of  stunted  trees,  whence  issued  the 
sound  that  attracted  his  attention.  Ere  he  had  proceeded 
many  yards  he  saw  a  woman  sitting  on  a  bank  of  sand  and 
oyster-shells,  and  singing  from  an  open  sheet  of  music,  while 
she  made  rapid  gestures  with  one  hand.  Her  face  was  turned 
from  him,  but,  as  he  cautiously  approached,  the  pose  of  the  figure, 
the  noble  contour  of  the  head  and  neck,  and  a  certain  muslin 
dress  which  matched  the  strip  in  his  pocket,  made  his  heart 
beat  violently.  Intent  only  on  solving  the  mystery,  he  stepped 
softly  towards  her;  but  just  then  a  brace  of  plover  started  up 
at  his  feet,  and,  as  they  whirred  away,  the  woman  turned  her 
head,  and  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  his  musician. 

"  Salome !  " 

"Well,  Dr.  Grey." 

She  had  risen,  and  a  beautiful  glow  overspread  her  cheeks,  a-3 
she  met  his  eyes. 

"What  brings  you  to  this  lonely  spot,  three  miles  from 
home,  when  the  sun  has  already  gone  down? " 

"Have  I  pot  as  unquestionable  a  right  to  walk  alone  to 
the  seaside  ao  you  to  drive  your  ward  whithersoever  you  list? 
Poverty,  as  well  as  wealth,  sometimes  makes  people  strangely 
independent.  What  have  you  done  with  Miss  Muriel 
Manton?" 

There  was  puch  a  sparkle  in  her  eyes,  such  a  bright  flush  en 
ker  polished  cheeks  and  parted  lips,  that  Dr.  Grey  wondered 
at  her  beauty,  which  hid  never  before  impressed  rim  as  *» 
extraordinary. 


UNTIL  DKATR  US  DO  PART.  197 

"  Salome,  why  liave  you  concealed  your  musical  gift  froic 
me  ?  Who  taught  you  to  sing  ?  " 

"  I  am  teaching  myself,  with  such  poor  aid  as  I  can  obtain 
from  that  miserable  vagabond}  Barilli,  who  Ls  generally  intoxi 
cated  three  days  out  of  every  six.  Did  you  expect  to  find 
Heine's  yellow-haired  Lcreley,  or  a  treacherous  Ligeia,  Bit 
ting  on  a  rock,  wooing  passers-by  to  speedy  destruction  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  did  not  expect  to  meet  my  friend  Salome  alone 
at  this  hour  and  place.  Child,  do  not  trifle  with  me,  —  be 
truthful.  Did  you  come  here  to  meet  any  one?  " 

"  One  never  knows  what  may  or  may  not  happen.  I  came 
here  to  practise  my  music  lesson,  sans  auditors,  and  I  meet  Dr. 
Grey,  —  the  last  person  I  expected  or  desired  to  see." 

He  came  a  step  nearer,  and  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Salome,  you  distress  and  perplex  me.  My  child,  are  you 
better  or  worse  than  I  think  you  ? '' 

She  lifted  her  sleuder  hand  and  laid  it  lightly  on  his,  which 
still  rested  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  I  am  both,  —  better  and  worse.  Better  in  aim  than  you 
believe ;  worse  in  execution  than  you  could  realize,  even  if  I 
confessed  all,  which  I  have  not  the  slightest  intention  of  doing. 
Ah,  Dr.  Grey,  if  you  read  me  thoroughly,  you  would  not  be 
surprised,  or  consider  it  presumptuous  that  I  sometimes  think 
1  am  that  anomalous  creature,  whom  Balzac  defined  as  *  Angel 
through  love,  demon  through  fantasy,  child  through  faith,  sage 
through  experience,  man  through  the  brain,  wcinian  through 
the  heart,  giant  through  hope,  and  poet  through  dreams.'" 

As  Dr.  Grey  looked  down  into  the  splendid  eyes,  softened 
and  magnified  by  a  crystal  veil  of  unshed  tears,  1  e  sighed,  and 
answered,  — 

"  You  are,  indeed,  a  bundle  of  contradictions.  Why  have  you. 
ao  sedulously  concealed  the  existence  of  your  fine  voice,  whicfe 
the  majority  of  girls  would  have  been  eager  to  exhibit?" 

"  lf  was  not  lack  of  vanity,  but  excess,  that  prompted  me  to 
keep  you  in  ignorance,  until  I  could  astonish  you  by  its  per 
fection.     You  have  anticipated  me  only  by  a  few  days,  and  I 
intended  singing  for  you  next  week." 
17* 


198  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  It  is  not  prudent  for  you  to  venture  so  far  from  home,  especially 
at  this  hour. " 

"We  paupers  are  not  so  fastidious  as  our  lucky  superiors,  and 
cannot  afford  timid  airs,  and  affectation  of  extreme  nervousness. 
Having  no  escort,  and  expecting  none,  I  walk  alone  in  any  direction 
I  choose,  with  what  fearlessness  and  contentment  I  find  myself  able 
to  command." 

"  It  will  be  dark  before  you  can  reach  the  public  road.'* 

w  No,  fir ;  there  is  a  young  moon  swinging  above  the  tree- 
tops,  to  light  me  on  my  lonesome  ramble ;  and  I  come  here  so 
often  that  even  the  rabbits  and  whippoorwills  know  me. 
Where  is  Miss  Muriel  ?  " 

"Waiting  in  the  buggy,  on  the  beach.  I  must  go  back  to 
aer." 

"Yes.  Pray  do  not  delay  an  instant,  or  she  will  imagine 
that  some  dire  calamity  has  befallen  her  knight,  who,  in 
hunting  a  siren,  encountered  Scylla  or  Charybdis.  Good 
evening,  Dr.  Grey." 

"  I  am  unwilling  to  leave  you  here  so  unprotected.  Come 
and  ride  with  Muriel,  and  I  will  walk  beside  the  buggy.  My 
horse  is  so  gentle  that  a  child  can  guide  him." 

"  Thank  you.  Not  for  a  ten-acre  lot  in  Mohammed'a 
Paradise  would  I  mar  Miss  Muriel's  happiness,  or  punish 
myself  by  a  tete-ct-tete  with  her.  It  would  be  positively  '  dis 
courteous'  in  me  to  accept  your  proposal  j  and,  moreover,  I 
abhor  division,  —  tout  ou  rien." 

"Wilful,  silly  child!  It  is  not  proper  for  you  to  wander  along 
that  dreary  road  in  the  dark.  Come  with  me." 

"Not  I.  Make  yourself  easy  by  recollecting  that  'naught  is 
never  in  danger.'  See  yonder  in  the  west, — 

'Where,  lo  !  above  the  sand}'  sunset  rose 
The  silver  sickle  of  the  green-gowned  witch.'  " 

She  laughed  lightly,  derisively,  and  collected  the  sheets  of  music 
scattered  on  the  bank. 


UK  TIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  199 

Silently   Dr.  Grey  returned  to  his  ward,  who  exclaimed,  at 

eight  of  him, — 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  for  you  stayed  so  long  I  was 
growing  frightened.  Did  you  ibid  the  singer  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?     You  look  troubled  and  solemn." 

"  I  am  merely  annoyed  by  circumstances  beyond  my  control, 

"  Dr.  Grey,  who  was  that  sweet  singer  ?  " 

"  Salome  Owen." 

"  How  can  such  a  thing  be  possible,  when  I  have  never  heard 
a  note  from  her  lips?  You  told  me  she  had  no  musical  talent." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  she  sang  at  all,  until  this  afternoon, 
and  your  surprise  does  not  equal  mine." 

"Where  did  you  find  her?  " 

"  Sitting  on  a  mound  of  sand,  singing  to  the  sea." 

"Who  is  with  her?" 

"  No  one.  I  requested  her  to  come  with  us,  and  offered  to 
walk  beside  my  biiggy ;  but  she  declined.  Please  be  so  con 
siderate  as  to  say  nothing  about  this  occurrence,  when  you 
reach  home ;  because  animadversion  only  hardens  that  poor  girl 
in  her  whimsical  ways.  Now  we  will  dismiss  the  matter." 

Muriel  endeavored  to  render  herself  an  agreeable  companion 
during  the  remainder  of  the  drive ;  but  her  guardian,  despite 
his  tfforts  to  become  interested  in  her  conversation,  was  evi 
dently  distrait,  and  both  felt  relieved  when  they  reached 
Gras:smere,  where  Miss  Jane  and  the  governess  welcomed  their 
return. 

Dr.  Grey  dismissed  his  buggy  and  entered  the  hall ;  but 
passed  through  the  house,  and,  crossing  the  orchard,  followed 
the  roari  leading  seaward. 

Only  a  few  summer  stars  were  sprinkling  their  silvery  rays 
av»r  the  gray  gloom  of  twilight,  and  the  shining  crescent  im 
the  violet  west  had  slipped  down  behind  the  silent  hills  that 
girded  the  rough,  winding  road. 

When  Salome  put  her  fingers  on  the  gloved  hand  which,  in 
the  surprise  of  their  unexpected  meeting,  Dr.  Grey  had  involun 
tarily  placed  on  her  shoulder,  she  had  felt  that  he  si  rant 


200  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

instantly  from  her  touch,  and  withdrew  his  hand  .nastily,  as  if 
displeased  with  the  familiarity  of  the  action.  All  the  turbid 
elements  in  her  nature  boiled  up.  Could  it  be  possible  that  he 
really  loved  his  rosy-faced,  bright-eyed,  prattling  ward?  Shs 
eet  this  conjecture  squarely  before  her,  and  forced  herself  ic 
ooutemplate  it.  If  he  desired  to  marry  Muriel,  of  course  h.3 
would  do  so  whenever  he  chose,  and  the  thought  that  he  might 
call  her  his  wife,  and  give  her  his  name,  his  caresses,  wrung  a 
cry  of  agony  frcrn  Salome's  lips.  She  threw  herself  on  the 
Band-bank,  and,  resting  her  chin  on  her  folded  arms,  gazed 
vacantly  across  the  yellow  strand  at  the  glassy,  leaden  sea  that 
stared  back  mockingly  at  her. 

She  was  too  miserable  to  feel  afraid  of  anything  but  Dr. 
Grey's  marriage ;  and,  moreover,  she  had  so  often,  during  the 
early  years  of  her  life,  gone  to  and  fro  in  the  darkness,  that  she 
was  a  stranger  to  that  timidity  which  girls  usually  indulge  under 
similar  circumstances.  The  fishermen  had  abandoned  the 
neighboring  huts  some  months  before,  and  "  Solitude,"  one 
mile  distant,  was  the  nearest  spot  occupied  by  human  beings. 

She  neither  realized  nor  cared  that  it  was  growing  darker, 
and,  after  awliile,  when  the  sea  was  no  longer  \isible  through 
the  dun  haze  that  brooded  over  it,  she  shut  her  eyes  and 
moaned. 

Dr.  Grey  had  walked  on,  hoping  every  moment  to  meet  her 
returning  home ;  and,  more  than  once,  he  was  tempted  to  retrace 
hi**  steps,  thinking  that  she  might  have  taken  some  direct  path 
across  the  hills,  instead  of  the  circuitous  one  bending  around 
their  base.  Quickening  his  pace  till  it  matched  his  pul*c, 
whiiib  an  indefinable  anxiety  accelerated,  he  finally  baw  tli£ 
liuta  dimly  outlined  against  the  starry  sky  and  quiet  sea. 

Pausing,  he  took  olf  his  hat  to  listen  to 

"  The  water  lapping  uii  the  crag, 
And  the  long  ripple  washing  in  the  reeda," 

And,  while  he  stood  wiping  his  brow,  there  came  across  the 
beach, — 


201 

"  A  cry  that  shivered  to  the  tingling  stars. 
And,  as  it  were  one  voice,  an  agony 
Of  lamentation,  like  a  wind  that  shrills 
All  night  in  a  waste  land,  where  no  one  cornea, 
Or  hath  come  since  the  making  of  the  world." 

la  the  uncertain  light  lie  ra^  towards  the  clump  of  tiree* 
where  he  had  left  Salome,  and  strained  his  eyes  to  discover 
'jome  moving  thing.  He  knew  that  he  must  be  very  raear  the 
?pot,  but  neither  the  expected  sound  nor  object  greeted  him, 
ami,  while  he  stopped  and  held  his  breath  to  listen,  the  silence 
was  profound  and  death-like.  He  was  opening  his  lips  to  call 
thy  girl's  name,  when  he  fancied  he  saw  something  move 
slightly,  and  simultaneously  a  human  voice  smote  the  oppres 
sive  stillness.  She  was  very  near  him,  and  he  heard  her 
saying  to  herself,  with  mournful  emphasis, — 

"  Have  I  brought  Joy,  and  slain  her  at  his  feet  ? 

Have  I  brought  Peace,  for  his  cold  kiss  to  kill  ? 
Have  I  brought  Youth,  crowned  with  wild-flowers  sweet, 

With  sandals  dewy  from  a  morning  hill, 

For  his  gray,  solemn  eyes,  to  fright  and  chill  ? 
Have  I  brought  Scorn  the  pale,  and  Hope  the  fleet, 
And  First  Love,  in  hor  lily  winding-sheet,  — 

And  is  ho  pitiless  still  ?  " 

Dr.  Grey  knew  now  that  she  was  not  crying.  Her  hard, 
ringing,  bitter  tone,  forbade  all  thought  of  sobs  or  tears ;  but 
his  heart  ached  as  he  listened,  and  surmised  the  application 
she  was  making  of  the  melancholy  lines. 

Unwilling  that  she  should  know  he  had  overheard  her,  he 
•waited  a  moment,  then  raised  his  voice  and  shouted,  — - 

"  Salome  !      Salome  !      Where  are  you  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer,  and,  fearing  that  she  might  elude  'ir", 
ke  stretched  out  his  arms,  and  advanced  to  the  spot,  which  hi 
&lfc  assured  was  only  a  f,;w  yards  distant. 

She  had  risen,  and,  standing  in  the  gloom  of  the  coining 
uight,  deepened  by  the  interlacing  boughs  above  hoi,  she  felt 
Dr.  Grey's  hand  on  her  dress,  then  on  her  head,  v  here  th« 
moisture  hung  Heavily  in  her  t.l>];:!i  !;;iir. 


202  UNTIL  LEATE   US  DO  PART. 

M  Salome,  why  do  you  not  answer  me  ?  * 

Shame  kept  her  silent. 

He  passed  his  hand  over  her  hot  face_  tJien  grop-ec  for  hen 
fingers,  which  he  gruspsd  firmty  in  his. 

"  Come  home  with  your  best  friend." 

He  knew  that  she  was  in  no  mood  to  submit  to  reprimand, 
*v<5  appreciate  argument,  or  even  to  listen  to  entreaty,  and  that 
he  might  as  profitably  undertake  to  knead  pig-iron  as  expostu 
late  with  her  at  this  j tincture. 

For  a  mile  they  walked  on  without  uttering  a  word ;  then 
he  felt  the  fingers  relax,  twitch,  and  twine  closely  around  his 
own. 

"  l)r.  Grey,  wh«re  is  Muriel  ?     Where  is  your  buggy  ?  " 

"  Both  are  at  home,  where  others   should    have  been,  lor  g 

•go." 

"  You  walked  back  to  meet  me  ?  " 

"  T  did." 

"  How  did  you  find  me,  in  the  dark  ?  " 

"  I  heard  your  voice." 

"  But  not  the  words  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Are  you  ashamed  for  me  to  hear  what  any  strolling 
stranger,  any  unscrupulous  vagabond,  might  have  listened  to  ?  " 

"  It  is  such  a  desolate,  lonely  place,  I  thought  no  one  would 
stumble  upon  me,  and  I  have  been  there  so  often  without  meet 
ing  a  living  thing  except  the  crabs  and  plover." 

"  You  are  no  longer  a  child,  and  such  rashness  is  altogether 
unpardonable  What  do  you  suppose  my  sister  would  think  of 
your  imprudent  obstinacy  ?  " 

They  walked  another  mile,  and  egain  Salome  convulsively 
pressed  the  cool,  steady,  strong  hand,  in  which  hers  lay  hot  and 
quivering. 

**Pr.  Grey,  toll  me  the  truth,  —  don't  torture  me." 

"  What  shall  I  tell  you  ?     You  torture  yourself." 

"  Did  ysu  hear  what  I  was  saying  to  my  own  hen-t?" 

"I  heard  you  repeating  some  lines  which  certainly  shouJi 
possess  nJ  relevancy  for  the  real  feeling  of  my  voung  friend." 


ffNTTL   DEATH  £7#  DO  PART.  L'03 

She  snatched  her  fingers  from  his,  and  he  knew  she  covered 
her  fiice  with  them. 

They  reached  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the  avenue,  and  Salome 
stopped  suddenly,  as  the  lights  from  the  front  windows  Hashed 
out  on  the  lawn 

"  Go  in,  and  leave  me." 

She  threw  herself  on  the  sward,  under  one  of  the  elm-tree®.. 
Mid  leaned  her  head  against  its  trunk. 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  tiling,  unless  you  desire  the  entire  house 
hold  to  comment  upon  your  reckless  conduct." 

"Oh,  Dr.  Grey,  1  care  little  now  what  the  whole  world 
thinks  or  says !  Let  me  be  quiet,  or  I  shall  go  mad." 

"No;  come  into  the  house,  and  sing  something  to  compensate 
me  for  the  anxiety  and  fatigue  you  have  cost  me.  T  do  not 
often  ask  a  favor  of  you,  and  certainly  in  this  instance  you  will 
not  refuse  to  grant  my  request." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  bent  down  and  softly  stroked  the 
hair  that  was  dam])  with  dew  and  sea-fog. 

The  long-pent  storm  broke  in  convulsive  sobs,  and  she  trem 
bled  from  head  to  foot,  while  tears  poured  over  her  burning 
cheeks. 

"  Poor  child  !      Can  you  not  confide  in  me?  " 

"Dr.  Grey,  will  you  forget  all  that  has  passed  to-day?  Will 
you  try  never  to  think  of  it  again  ?  " 

"  On  condition  that  you  never  repeat  the  offence." 

"  You  do  not  despise  me  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  pity  me  ?  " 

"  I  pity  any  human  being  who  is  so  unfortunate  as  to  posset* 
your  wilful,  perverse,  passionate  disposition.  Unless  you  over 
come  this  dangerous  tendency  of  character,  you  may  expect  only 
wretr-hedness  and  humiliation  in  coming  years.  I  am  sincerely 
sorry  for  you,  but  I  tell  you  unhesitatingly,  that  I  find  it  diffi 
eult  to  tolerate  your  grave  and  obtrusive  faults." 

She  raised  her  clasped  hands,  and  said,  brokenly, — 

"This  is  the  kist  time  I  shall  ever  ask  you  to  forgive  m« 
Will  you  ?  " 


204  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"As  freely  and  fullj  as  a  grieve:!  brother  ever  forg&ve  a  way 
ward  sister." 

He  lock  the  fo  decl  hands,  lifted  her  from  the  grass,  and  led 
ker  to  a  side  door  opening  upon  the  east  gallery. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  give  me  one  kind  word  before  I  go." 

Ilie  lamp-light  from  the  hall  shone  full  on  his  pale  face,  whir,l) 
*as  sterner  than  she  had  ever  seen  it,  as  he  forcibly  withdrew 
his  hands  from  her  tight  clasp,  and,  putting  her  away  from  hirr^ 
said,  very  coldly, — 

UI  exhausted  my  store  of  kind  thoughts  and  words  when  I 
called  you  my  sister." 

He  saw  that  she  understood  him,  for  she  tried  to  hide  her 
face,  but  a  spasm  passed  over  it,  and  she  would  have  fallen  had 
he  not  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  up  to  her  own 
room. 

Stanley  was  asleep  with  his  head  pillowed  on  his  open  geog 
raphy,  but  the  candle  burned  beside  him,  and  Dr.  Grey  placed 
Salome  on  a  lounge  near  the  window,  and  sprinkled  her  face 
with  water. 

Kneeling  by  the  low  couch,  he  rubbed  her  hands  vigorously 
with  some  cologne  he  found  on  her  bureau ;  and,  watching  her 
pale,  beautiful  features,  his  heai-t  swelled  with  compassion,  and 
his  calm  eyes  grew  misty.  Consciousness  very  soon  returned, 
and  when  she  saw  the  noble,  sorrowful  countenance,  bent  anx 
iously  over  her,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  moaned 
rather  than  spoke, — 

"  I  can't  endure  your  pity.  Leave  me  with  my  self-contempt 
asd  deg'-adation." 

"  My  little  sister,  I  leave  you  in  God's  merciful  hands,  and 
tiust  you  to  the  guidance  of  your  womanly  pride  and  self-respect. 
Good-night.  We  wiU  not  engrave  this  unfortunate  da~  on  GUI 
tablets,  but  foiget  its  record,  save  one  fact,  that  for  all  ime  it 
makes  me  your  brother ;  and,  Salome ,  — 

"  'So  we'll  not  dream,  nor  look  back,  dear, 
But  march  right  on,  content  and  bold, 
To  where  our  life  sets  heavenly  clear,  — 
Westward,  behind  tbo  hll's  of  goli'" 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO   PART.  205 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

!,.  GREY",  who  is  tliat  beautiful  girl  to  wham  Muriel 
introduced  me  this  morning?  I  was  so  absorbed  in 
admiration  of  her  face  that  I  lost  her  name." 

As  ho  spoke,  Mr.  Gerard  Granville  struck  the  ashes  from  Ma 
cigar,  and  walked  up  to  the  table  where  Dr.  Grey  was  sealing 
some  letters. 

"  Her  name  is  Salome  Owen,  and  she  is  my  sister's  adopted 
child." 

"What  is  her  age,  if  I  may  be  pardoned  such  impertinent 
queries  ?  " 

"  I  believe  she  has  entered  her  eighteenth  year." 

"  She  is  a  regal  beauty,  and  shows  proud  blood  as  plainly  ja 
any  princess." 

"  Take  care,  Granville ;  imagination  has  cantered  away  with 
your  penetration.  Salome's  family  were  coarse  and  common, 
though  doubtless  honest  people.  Her  father  was  a  drunken 
miller,  who  died  in  an  attack  of  delerium  tremens,  and  left  hi» 
children  as  a  legacy  to  the  county.  I  merely  mention  these  de 
plorable  facts  to  show  you  that  your  boasted  penetration  is  not 
entirely  infallible." 

"Miller  or  niillionnaire,  —  the  girl  would  grace  any  court  in 
Europe,  and  only  lacks  a  dash  of  aplomb  to  make  her  irresistible., 
I  have  seen  few  faces  that  attracted  and  interested  ine  so  power 
fully." 

"Yes,  she  certainly  is  very  handsome;  but  1  do  not  agree 
with  you  in  thinking  that  she  lacks  aplomb.  Granville,  if  you 
iwivt;  finished  your  cigar,  we  will  idjourn  to  the  parlor,  where 
the  ladies  are  taking  their  tea." 

Dr.  Grey  collected  his  letters  and  walked  away,  followed  b^ 
hin  guest ;  and,  a  moment  after,  a  low,  scornful  laugh,  floated  in 
through  the  window  which  opened  on  the  little  flower-garden. 

MLss  Jane  had  requested  Salome  to  gather  the  seeds  of  some 
apple  and  nutmeg  geraniums  that  were  arranged  on  a  shelf  neai 
18 


206  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART. 

the  western  window  of  the  library ;  and,  while  stooping  over  tLt 
china  jars,  and  screened  from  observation  by  a  spreading  lilao- 
bush,  the  girl  had  heard  the  conversation  relative  to  herself. 

Excessive  vanity  had  never  been  numbered  among  '.he  faults 
that  marred  her  character,  but  Dr.  Grey's  indifference  to  \»st- 
frcnal  attractions,  which  strangers  admitted  so  readily,  piqued, 
and  thoroughly  aroused  a  feeling  that  was  destined  to  bring 
countless  errors  and  misfortunes  in  its  train;  and,  henceforth, — 

"  There  was  not  a  high  thing  out  of  heaven, 
Her  pride  o'ermastereth  not. " 

Hitherto  the  love  of  one  man  had  been  the  only  boon  sha 
craved  of  heaven ;  but  now,  conscious  that  the  darling  hope  of 
her  life  was  crushed  and  withering  under  Dr.  Grey's  relentless 
feet,  she  resolved  that  the  admiration  of  the  world  shoiild 
feed  her  insatiable  hunger,  —  a  maddening  hunger  which  one 
tender  word  from  his  true  lips  would  have  assuaged,  —  but 
which  she  began  to  realize  he  would  never  utter. 

During  the  last  eighteen  hours,  a  mournful  change  had  taken 
place  in  her  heart,  where  womanly  tenderness  was  rapidly  re 
treating  before  unwomanly  hate,  bitterness,  and  blasphemous 
defiance ;  and  she  laughed  scornfully  at  the  "  idiocy "  that  led 
her  to  weary  heaven  with  prayers  for  the  preservation  of  a  life 
that  must  ever  run  as  an  asymptote  to  her  own.  How  earnestly 
she  now  lamented  an  escape,  for  which  she  had  formerly  ex 
hausted  language  in  expressing  her  gratitude ;  and  how  much 
better  it  would  have  been  if  she  could  mourn  him  as  dead, 
instead  of  jealously  watching  him,  —  living  without  a  thought 
of  her. 

All  the  girlish  sweetness  and  freshness  of  her  nature  passed 
!  vay,  and  an  intolerable  weariness  and  disappointment  usurped 
its  place.  Since  her  acquaintar  ce  with  Dr.  Grey,  he  had  been 
her  sole  Jbfelek  Taous,  adored  with  Yezidi  fervor;  but  to-day 
shs  overturned,  and  strove  to  revile  and  desecrate  the  idol,  to 
whose  vacant  pedestal  she  lifted  a  colossal  v'anity.  Her  bruised, 
tiujib  heart,  seemed  incapable  of  loving  any  one,  or  anytliing, 
and  a  hatred  and  contempt  of  her  race  took  possession  of  her. 


UNTIL  DEATH  UR  DO  PART.  207 

The  changing  hues  of  Muriel's  tell  tale  Jace  when  Mr.  Graj»- 
rille  arrived,  and  the  excessive  happiness  that  could  not  be 
masked,  had  not  escaped  Salome's  lynx  vision;  and  v«sy 
accurately  she  conjectured  the  real  condition  of  affairs,  relatrra 
to  which  Dr.  Grey  had  never  uttered  a  syllable.  Bent  upon 
mischief,  she  had,  malice  prepense,  dressed  herself  with  unusual 
rare,  and  arranged  her  hair  in  a  new  style  of  coiffure,  which 
proved  very  becoming. 

Now,  as  the  hum  of  conversation  mingled  with  the  sound  of 
Muriel's  low,  soft  laugh,  reached  her  from  the  parlor,  her 
chatoyant  eyes  kindled,  and  she  hastily  went  in  to  join  the 
merry  circle. 

"  Come  here,  child,  and  sit  by  me."  said  Miss  Jane,  making 
room  on  the  sofa,  as  her  protegee  entered. 

"  Thank  you,  [  prefer  a  seat  near  the  window." 

Dr.  Grey  sat  in  a  large  chair  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  with 
Muriel  on  an  ottoman  close  to  him,  and  Mr.  Granville  leaned 
over  the  back  of  the  chair,  while  Miss  Dexter  shared  Miss 
Jane's  old-fashioned  ample  sofa.  In  full  view  of  the  whole 
party,  Salome  seated  herself  at  a  little  distance,  and,  with 
admirably  assumed  nonchalance,  began  to  enclose  arid  sew  up 
the  geranium-seeds,  in  some  pretty,  colored  paper  bags,  prepared 
for  the  purpose. 

After  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Granville  sauntered  across  the  room^ 
looked  at  the  cuckoo  clock,  and  finally  went  over  to  the  window, 
where  he  leaned  against  the  facing  and  watched  Salome's  slender 
white  fingers. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  delicate  muslin,  striped  with  narrow  pink 
lines,  and  flounced  at  the  bottom  of  the  skirt,  and  wore  a  ribbon 
sash  of  the  same  color ;  while  in  the  broad  braids  of  hair  raised 
high  on  her  head,  she  had  fastened  a  superb  half-blown  Baron 
3"rovost  rose,  ju-it  where  two  long  glossy  curls  crept  down  Tha 
puffed  sleeves,  scarcely  reaching  the  elbows,  displayed  the  finely 
rounded  whitu  arras,  ani  the  exactness  with  which  the  airy 
rruslin  fitted  her  form,  showed  its  symmetrical  oxitline  to  the 
greatest  advantage. 

Muriel  touched  her  guardian,  aud  whispered^ — 


208  UNTIL   DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Salome  look  so  beautiful  ?  Her  ooiffurs 
to-niglit  is  almost  Parisian,  and  how  very  becoming  !  " 

Dr.  Grey  was  studying  the  innocent,  happy  countenance  of  hi* 
unsuspecting  ward,  and  he  could  not  repress  a  sigh,  when,  turning 
his  eyes  towards  Salome,  he  noticed  the  undisguised  admiration 
in  Mr.  Granville's  earnest  gaze. 

A  nameless  dread  made  him  take  Muriel's  hand  said  lead  bet 
to  the  piano. 

"  Play  something  for  me.     1  am  music-hungry." 

"  Is  Saul  sad  to-night  ?  n  she  asked,  smiling  up  at  him. 

"  A  little  fatigued  and  perplexed,  and  anxious  to  have  hia 
cares  exorcised  by  the  magic  of  your  fingers." 

With  womanly  tact  she  selected  a  fantasia  which  Mr.  Gran- 
vilie  had  often  pronounced  the  gem  of  her  repertoire,  and 
momentarily  expected  to  hear  his  whispered  thanks ;  but  page 
after  page  was  turned,  and  still  her  lover  did  not  approach  the 
piano,  where  Dr.  Grey  stood  with  folded  arms  and  slightly  con 
tracted  brows.  Muriel  played  brilliantly,  and  was  pardonably 
proud  of  her  proficiency,  which  Mr.  Graiiville  had  confessed 
first  attracted  his  attention ;  and  to-night,  when  the  piece  waa 
concluded  and  she  commenced  a  Polonaise,  she  looked  over  her 
shoulder  hoping  to  meet  a  grateful,  fond  glance.  But  his  eyes 
were  riveted  on  the  fair  rosy  face  at  his  side,  and  his  betrothed 
bit  her  pouting  lip  and  made  sundry  blunders. 

As  she  rose  from  the  piano-stool,  Mr.  Granville  exclaimed, — 

"  Miss  Muriel,  you  love  music  so  well  that  I  trust  you  will 
add  your  persuasions  to  mine,  and  induce  Miss  Owen  to  sing 
for  us,  as  she  declares  she  is  comparatively  a  tyro  in  instrumen 
tal  music,  and  would  not  venture  to  perform  in  your  presence." 

"  She  has  never  sung  for  me,  but  I  hope  she  will  not  refuse 
your  request.  Salome,  will  you  not  oblige  us  ?  " 

Muriel's  eyes  were  dim  with  tears,  but  her  sweet  voice  did 
not  falter. 

"I  was  not  iware  that  you  sang  at  all,"  said  Miss  Dexter, 
looking  up  from  a  mat  which  she  was  crocheting. 

"  She  has  a  fine  voice,  but  is  very  obstinate  in  declining  to 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  209 

use  it.     Come,  Salome,  don't  be  childish,  dear.     Sing  something,*' 
coaxed  Miss  Jane. 

The  girl  waited  a  few  seconds,  hoping  thut  another  voio» 
would  swell  the  genera:  request,  but  the  lips  she  loved  best  were 
mvito ;  and,  suddenly  tossing  the  paper  bags  from  her  lap,  she 
rose  anil  moved  proudly  to  the  piano. 

"  Miss  Manton,  will  you  or  Miss  Dexter  be  so  kind  as  to  play 
-i»y  accompaniment  for  me  ?  I  am  neither  Liszt,  nor  Thalbcrg, 
and  the  vocal  gymnastics  are  all  that  I  can  venture  to  under 
take." 

Muriel  promptly  resumed  her  seat  before  the  instrument,  and 
played  the  symphony  of  an  aria  from  "  Favorite,"  which  Salome 
placed  on  the  piano-board.  Barilli  had  assured  her  that  she 
rendered  this  fiery  burst  of  rage  and  hatred  as  well  as  he  had 
ever  heard  it ;  and,  folding  her  lingers  tightly  around  each  other 
she  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  sang  it. 

Mr.  Granville  leaned  against  the  piano,  and  Dr.  Grey  waa 
standing  in  the  recess  of  the  window  when  the  song  began,  but 
ere  long  he  moved  forward  unconsciously  and  paused,  with  his 
hand  on  his  ward's  shoulder  and  his  eyes  riveted  in  astonish 
ment  on  Salome's  countenance.  She  knew  that  the  approbation 
and  delight  of  this  small  audience  was  worth  all  the  encore 
shouts  of  the  millions  who  might  possibly  applaud  her  in  future 
years ;  and  if  ever  a  woman's  soul  poured  itself  out  through  her 
lips,  all  that  was  surging  in  Salome's  heart  became  visible  to 
the  man  who  listened  as  if  spell-bound. 

Miss  Jane  grasped  her  crutches,  and  rose,  leaning  upon  them, 
while  a  look  of  mingled  joy  and  wonder  made  her  sallow  face 
eloquent ;  and  .Miss  Dexter  dropped  her  ivory  needle,  and  gazed 
in  amazement  at  the  singer.  Muriel  forgot  her  chords, — turned 
partially  around,  and  watched  in  breathless  surprise  the  mar 
vellous  execution  of  several  difficult  passages,  where  the  rich 
coice  seemed  to  linger  while  improvising  sparkling  turns  and 
"rills  that  were  strangely  intricate,  and  indescribably  sweet. 

As  she  approached  the   close   of  her  song,  Salome  became 
temporarily  oblivious  of  pride,  wounded  vanity,  and  murdered 
hopes,  —  forgot  all  but  Ihe  man  at  her  side,  for  whose  cominen 
13* 


210  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  1  A.KT. 

elation  she  had  toiled  so  patiently,  and  turning  her  flushed, 
radiant  face,  towards  him,  her  magnificent  eyes  aflame  with 
triumph  looked  appealingly  up  at  his,  and  her  hands  were  ex 
tended  till  they  rested  cii  Ms  arm. 

So  the  soug  ended,  and  for  a  moment  the  parlor  was  «till  as 
ft  tomb.  Dr.  Grey  silently  enclosed  the  girl's  two  hands  in  hla, 
and,  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  known  him,  Salome  saw 
kjars  swimming  in  his  grave,  beautiful  eyes,  and  noticed  a  slight 
tremor  on  his  usually  steady  lips. 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  old  world  or  the  new  comparable 
to  that  voice,  and  I  flatter  myself  I  speak  ex  cathedra.  Miss 
Owen,  you  will  soon  have  the  public  at  your  feet." 

She  did  not  heed  Mr.  Granville's  enthusiastic  eulogy.  She 
saw  nothing  but  Dr.  Grey's  admiring  eyes,  —  felt  nothing  but 
the  close  warm  clasp,  in  which  her  folded  fingers  lay, —  and  her 
ears  ached  for  the  sound  of  liis  deep  voice. 

"  Salome,  I  shall  not  soon  forgive  you  for  keeping  me  in 
ignorance  of  the  existence  of  the  finest  voice  it  has  ever  been 
my  good  fortune  to  hear.  Knowing  your  adopted  brother's 
fondness  for  music,  how  could  you  hoard  your  treasure  so  par 
simoniously,  denying  him  such  happiness  as  you  might  have 
conferred  ?  " 

He  untwined  her  fingers,  which  clung  tenaciously  to  his,  and 
saw  that  the  blood  ebbed  out  of  cheeks  and  lips  as  she  listened 
to  his  carefully  guarded  language.  Silently  she  obeyed  Miss 
Jane's  summons  to  the  sofa. 

"  You  perverse  witch  !  Where  have  you  been  practising  all 
these  months,  that  have  made  you  such  a  wonderful  cantatrice? 
Child,  answer  me." 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  annoy  the  household  by  thrumming  on  the 
piano  and  afflicting  their  ears  with  false  flat  scales,  consequently 
I  followed  the  birds,  and  rehearsed  with  them,  under  the  trees, 
and  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sea.  If  you  like  my  voice  I  am 
glad,  because  I  have  studied  to  perfect  it." 

"  Like  it,  indeed !  As  if  1  could  avoid  liking  it !  But  ym 
must  have  had  good  training.  Who  tavight  you  ?  " 

"  I  took  lessons  from  Barilli." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  211 

"  Aha,  —  Ulpian  !  Now  you  can  understand  how  ne  coutrivei 
io  feed  Ids  family.  Salome's  sewing-money  explains  it  all, 
Kiss  me,  dear.  I  always  believed  there  was  more  in  you  thaa 
same  to  the  surface." 

"  Miss  Owen  ought  to  go  upon  the  stage.  Such  gifts  as  hers 
b-long  to  the  public,  who  would  soon  crown  her  queen  of  song.13 

Salome  glanced  at  the  handsome  stranger,  and  bowed. 

"  It  is  my  purpose,  sir,  to  dedicate  myself  and  future  to  the 
Opera,  where  I  trust  I  shall  not  utterly  fail,  as  I  have  been  for 
a  year  studying  with  reference  to  this  step." 

A  bomb-shell  falling  in  that  quiet  circle,  would  scarcely  have 
startled  its  members  more  effectually;  and,  anxious  to  avoid 
comment,  Salome  quitted  the  parlor  and  ran  out  on  the  lawn. 

After  awhile  she  heard  Muriel's  skilful  touch  on  the  piano, 
and,  when  an  hour  had  elapsed,  the  echo  of  voices  died  away, 
and  soon  a  profound  silence  seemed  to  reign  over  the  house. 

The  hot  blood  was  coursing  thick  and  fast  in  her  veins,  and 
evil  purposes  brooded  darkly  over  her  oppressed  and  throbbing 
heart.  She  was  thoroughly  cognizant  of  the  intense  admiration 
with  which  Mr.  Granville  regarded  her,  and  to-night  she  had 
compared  his  handsome  face  witli  the  older,  graver,  and  less 
regular  features  of  Dr.  Grey,  and  wondered  why  the  latter  wart 
so  much  more  fascinating.  Her  beauty  transcended  Muriel's, 
and  it  would  prove  an  easy  task  to  supplant  her  in  the  affections: 
of  her  not  very  ardent  lover.  Life  in  Paris,  spiced  with  the 
political  intrigues  incident,  to  diplomatic  circles,  would  divert 
her  thoughts,  and  might  possibly  make  the  coming  years  endura 
ble.  Was  the  game  worth  the  candle  '(  No  thought  of  Muriel's 
;jii..-:ery  entered  for  an  instant  into  this  entirely  sordid  calcula 
tion,  or  would  have  deterred  her  even  momentarily  had  ii 
presented  itself  in  expostulation.  The  girl's  heart  had  suddenly 
grown  callous,  and  her  hand  svould  hare  ruthlessly  smitten  down 
ktuy  object  that  darea  to  cross  her  patu,  or  retard  the  accomplish 
ment  of  her  schemes.  Weary  at  last  „£  pacing  the  dim  starlit 
avenue,  and  yet  too  wretched  to  think  of  sleeping,  she  reentered 
the  house,  and  cautiously  locking  :he  door,  threw  herself  into  a 


212  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

corner  of  the  parlor  sofa,  which  stcod  just  beneath  the  jx>rtiai! 
she  so  often  studied. 

If  she  had  not  at  this  juncture  been  completely  absorbed  It. 
gazing  upon  it,  she  might  have  seen  the  original,  who  socn  rosr 
and  came  forward  from  the  shadow  of  the  curtains. 

"Salome,  I  wish  to  make  you  rny  confidante,  —  to  tell  yoT< 
something  which  I  have  not  yet  mentioned  even  to  Janet.  Ca:; 
I  trust  you,  little  sister?'1 

Resting  against  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  he  looked  intently  into 
her  face,  reading  its  perturbed  lines. 

"  I  presume  you  are  amusing  yourself  by  tantalizing  my 
curiosity,  as  your  experiments  appear  to  have  thoroughly 
satisfied  you  that  I  am  utterly  unworthy  of  trust.  I  follow  the 
nattering  advice  you  were  so  kind  as  to  give  me  some  time  since, 
and  make  no  promises,  which  shatter  like  crystal  under  the 
hammer  of  the  first  temptation.  You  see,  sir,  you  are  teaching 
me  to  be  cautious." 

"You  are  teaching  yourself  lessons  in  dissimulation  and 
maliciousness,  that  you  will  heartily  rue  some  day,  but  yoiir 
repentance  will  come  too  tardily  to  mend  the  mischief." 

She  tried  to  screen  her  covintenance,  but  he  was  in  no  mood 
for  trifling,  and  putting  his  palm  under  her  chin,  forced  her  to 
submit  to  his  scrutiny. 

"  Salome,  if  I  did  not  cherish  a  strong  faith  in  the  latent 
generosit}r  of  your  soul,  I  would  not  come  to  you  as  I  do  now 
to  offer  confidence,  and  demand  it  in  return." 

She  guessed  his  meaning,  and  her  eyes  glowed  with  all  ihe 
baleful  light  that  he  had  hoped  was  extinguished  forever. 

"  Dr.  Grey  makes  a  grace  of  necessity,  and  a  pretence  of  c<  n 
fiding  that  which  has  ceased  to  be  a  secret.  Is  such  his  boasted 
candor  and  honesty  ?  " 

"  If  I  believed  that  you  were  already  acquainted  with  whti 
I  propose  to  divulge,  I  would  not  fritter  away  my  time  ix 
appealing  to  a  nobility  of  feeling  which  that  fact  aloL«  would 
prove  the  hopelessness  of  my  ever  finding  in  you." 

He  felt  her  face  grow  hot,  and  for  an  instant  her  eyes  drooped 
before  his,  stern  and  almost  threatening. 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART.  213 

K  Well,  sir ;  I  wait  for  your  confidential  disclosures.  It*  there 
a  Guy  Fawkes,  or  Titus  Gates,  plotting  against  the  peace  and 
prosperitv  of  the  house  of  Grey  ?  "' 

"  Verily  I  am  disposed  to  apprehend  that  there  may  be." 

Sli  3  endeavored  to  wrench  her  face  from  his  hand,  1m i  he  held 
.  .innl",  aud  continued, — 

i!  i  wish  to  say  to  you  that  Muriel  is  very  tiensiti  /e,  and  i 
uipe  that  during  Mr.  Graiiville'.s  visit,  you  will  try  to  be  tui 
considerate  aud  courteous  as  possible,  to  both.  Salome,  Geraru 
'Jranville  has  asked  Muriel  to  be  his  wife,  and  she  has  promised 
co  marry  him  at  the  expiration  of  a  year." 

The  girl  laughed  derisively,  and  exclaimed, — 

"Pray,  Dr.  Grey,  be  so  good  as  to  indulge  me  with  youi 
•uotive  in  furnishing  this  piece  of  information?" 

"  Your  astuteness  forbids  the  possibility  of  any  doubt  with 
reference  to  my  motives,  —  which  are,  explicitly,  anxiety  for 
Muriel's  happiness,  and  for  the  preservation  of  your  integrity 
»ud  self-respect." 

"  AVliat  jeopardizes  either  ?  " 

"  Your  heartless,  contemptible  vanity,  which  tempts  you  to 
dauiand  a  homage  and  incense  that  should  be  offered  only  where 
it  is  due,  —  at  another,  and  I  grieve  to  add,  a  purer  shrine.'' 

"Ah  !  My  unpardonable  sin  consists  in  having  braided  my 
black  locks,  and  made  myself  comely !  If  you  will  procure  an 
authentic  portrait  of  the  Witch  of  Eiidor,  I  will  do  proper 
penance  by  likening  my  appearance  thereunto.  Poor  little  rose ! 
Can't  you  open  your  pink  lips  and  cry  peccavi  ?  Come  down, 
sole  ally  and  accomplice  of  my  heinous  vanity,  and  plead  for  me, 
and  make  the  a/mende  honorable  to  this  grim  guardian  of  M  isa 
Muriel's  peace  !  " 

She  snatched  the  drooping  rose  from  her  hair,  and  tossed  it 
u  his  feet. 

•'  S:\lome,  you  forget  yourself!  " 

His  stern  displeasure  rendered  her  reckless,  and  she  con- 
mued,- 

"  True,  ,sir.  I  did  forget  that  the  poor  miller's  child  had  no 
ri^ht  to  obtmde  her  comeliness  in  the  presence  of  the  baakv'a 


214  UNTIL  DEATH  18  DO  PART. 

daughter.  I  confess  my  'high  crime  and  misdemeanor'  aguintf 
the  pet  of  fortune,  and  await  my  condign  punishment.  Is  it 
your  sovereign  will  that  I  shear  my  shining  locks  like  royal 
Berenice,  and  oifer  them  in  propitiation  ?  Or,  does  it  seem  '  good, 
meet,  and  your  bouadeii  duty,'  to  have  me  promptly  inoculated 
with  small-pox,  for  the  destruction  of  my  skin,  which  is  unjund 
fiably  smooth oi  and  clearer  tlian — ' 

«  Hush,  hush  !  " 

He  laid  his  hand  over  her  lips;  and,  for  a  while,  there  was  au 
Kwkward  pause. 

"  If  it  were  only  possible  to  inoculate  your  heart  with  a  little 
genuine  womanly  charity,  —  if  it  were  possible  to  persuade  you 
to  .adopt  as  your  rule  of  conduct  that  golden  one  which  Christ 
gave  as  a  patent  of  peace  to  all  who  followed  it.  But  it  is  futile, 
hopeless.  You  will  not,  you  will  not,  —  and  my  nuttering  dove 
is  at  the  mercy  of  a  famished  eagle,  already  poised  to  swoop.  I 
'  reckoned  without  niy  host '  when  I  so  confidently  appealed  to 
your  magnanimity,  to  your  feminine  integrity  of  soul.  You  are 
a  '  deaf  adder  that  stoppeth  her  ear.'  " 

"  Which  will  not  '  hearken  to  the  voice  of  the  charmer,  charm 
he  never  so  wisely.'  Dr.  Grey,  what  lias  tiie  pampered  heiress,  the 
happy  fiancee  of  that  handsome  man  up-stairs,  to  fear  from  the 
poverty-stricken  daughter  of  a  miller,  who  you  conscientiously 
inform  your  guest  passed  from  time  to  eternity  through  the 
gate  opened  by  delirium  tremens.  Mark  you,  my  *  adder  ears  ' 
have  not  been  sealed  all  the  evening." 

She  had  taken  his  hand  from  her  lips,  and  thrown  it  from 
ker. 

"  People  who  condescend  to  listen  to  conversations  that  are 
not  intended  for  them,  generally  deserve  the  punishment  of 
hearing  unpleasant  truths  discussed.  Salome,  our  interview  in, 
at  an  end." 

"Not  yet.  Do  you  sincerely  desire  to  see  Muriel  Mr, 
irranville's  wife  ?  " 

"  I  do,  because  1  know  that  she  is  strongly  attached  to  Jam." 

'•*  And  y  mi  are  sufficiently  generous  to  sacrifice  your  happi- 
,  in  order  to  promote  hers  ?    Oh,  marvellous  magnanimity  I  * 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  215 

K  Your  insinuation  is  beneath  my  notice." 

"  Hew  long  ha\  e  you  known  of  her  engagement  ?  " 

"  Since  the  first  interview  I  had  with  her,  after  her  father7* 
death." 

"Let  me  see  your  face,  Dr.  Grey.  If  truth  has  not  been 
bunted  out  of  the  earth,  it  took  refuge  in  your  eyes.  There,  I 
in  satisfied.  You  never  loved  her.  I  think  I  must  have  beer. 
insane,  or  1  would  not  have  imagined  it  possible.  No,  110 ;  she 
never  touched  your  heart,  save  with  a  feeling  of  compassion. 
Don't  go,  1  want  to  say  something  to  you.  Sit  down,  and  let 
me  think." 

She  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  ten  minutes,  and,  with 
his  face  bowed  on  his  hand,  Dr.  Grey  watched  and  waited. 

Finally  lie  stooped  to  pick  up  the.  crushed  rose  on  the  floor, 
and  then  she  came  back  and  stood  before  him. 

"  1  promise  you  I  will  not  lay  a  straw  in  the  path  of  Muriel's 
happiness,  and  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  Mr.  Granville  fails  in 
a  lover's  devoir.  I  was  tempted  to  entice  him  from  his  sworn 
allegiance.  Why  should  I  deny  what  you  know  so  well  ?  But 
1  will  not,  and  when  I  give  my  word,  it  shall  go  hard  with  rne 
but  1  keep  it ;  especially  when  you  hold  the  pledge.  Are  you 
satisfied?  1  know  that  you  have  little  cause  to  trust  me,  but  1 
tel!  you,  sir,  when  I  deceive  you,  then  all  heaven  with  its 
hierarchies  of  archangels  can  not  nave  me." 

After  all,  Ulpian  Grey  was  only  a  man  of  flesh  and  blood,  and 
his  heart  was  touched  by  the  beauty  of  the  young  face,  and  th~ 
mournful  sweetness  of  the  softened  voice. 

"Thank  you,  Salome.  1  accept  your  promise,  and  rely  upon 
it.  As  a  pledge  of  your  sincerity  I  shall  retain  this  rose,  an  1 
return  it  to  you  when  little  Muriel  is  a  happy  wife." 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  mournful, 
wistful  expression,  that  puzzled  him. 

"  My  friend,  my  little  sister,  what  is  it?  Tell  me,  and  let  me 
'.M'<lp  you  to  do  your  duty,  for  I  see  that  you  are  wrestling  des 
perately  with  some  great  temptation." 

"  Dr.  Grey,  be  merciful  to  me.  Send  me  awry.  Oh,  f>r  God's 
,  send  me  away !  " 


216  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

She  had  grown  ghastly  pale,  and  her  whole  face  indexed  * 
depth  of  anguish  and  despair  that  baffled  utterance. 

"  My  clear  child,  where  do  you  desire  to  go  ?  If  your  wishes 
are  reasonable  they  shall  be  granted." 

"  Will  you  persuade  Miss  Jane  to  take  Jessie  in  my  plar/c, 
isucl  send  me  to  France  or  Italy  ?  " 

"To  study  music  with  the  intention  of  becoming  a  prima 


«  Yes,  sir.  " 

"  My  young  friend,  I  cannot  conscientiously  advise  a  compli 
ance  with  wishes  so  fraught  with  clanger  to  yourself." 

"You  fear  that  my  voice  does  not  justify  so  expensive  an 
fxperinient  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  not  a  doubt  that  your  extraordi 
nary  voice  will  lift  you  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  musical  cele 
brity  ;  and,  because  your  career  on  the  stage  promises  to  prove 
so  brilliant,  I  shudder  in  anticipating  the  temptations  that  will 
unavoidably  assail  you." 

"  You  are  afraid  to  tnist  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  little  sister;  you  are  so  impulsive,  so  prone  to 
hearken  to  evil  dictates  rather  than  good  ones,  that  I  dread  the 
thought  of  seeing  you  launched  into  the  dangerous  career  you 
contemplate,  without  some  surer,  safer,  more  infallible  pilot 
than  your  proud,  passionate  heart.  If  you  were  homely,  and 
a  dullard,  I  should  entertain  less  apprehension  about  yotu 
future." 

Her  broad  brow  blackened  with  a  frown  that  became  a  terrible 
scowl,  and  her  eyes  gleamed  like  lightning  under  the  edge  oi 
a  thunderous  summer  cloud. 

"  What  is  it  to  you  whether  I  live  or  die  ?     The  immaculate 
aoul  of  Ulpian  Grey,  M.D.,  will  serenely  wing  its  way  up 
through  the  stars,  on  and  on  to  the  great  Gates  of  Pearl,— 
ablivious  of  the  beggar  who,  from  the  lowest  Hades,  where 
she  has  fallen,  eagerly  watches  his  flight." 

"The  anxious  soul  of  Ulpian  Grey  will  pray  for  yours,  as 
long  as  we  remain  on  earth.  Salome,  I  am  the  truest  friend 
you  will  ever  find  this  side  of  the  City  of  God;  and,  wht-r.  I  BW 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAJLM.  217 

you  plunging  madly  into  x.d.n,  i  shall  snatch  you  baok,  coat  me 
what  it  may.  Your  jeers  and  struggles  have  not  deterred  me 
hitheito,  nor  shall  they  henceforth.  You  are  as  incapable  of 
guiding  yourself  aright,  as  a  rudderless  bark  is  of  stemming  tha 
g,  ilf  -stream  in  a  south-west  gale ;  and  7  am  afraid  to  trust  you 
o  it  of  my  sight." 

"  Yos,  I  understand  yoi: ;  the  good  angel  in  your  nature 
;;icies  the  demon  in  mine.  But  your  pity  stifles  me;  I  could 
not  endure  it;  and,  besides,  I  cannot  stay  here  any  longer.  I 
must  go  out  into  the  world,  and  seize  the  fortune  that  people 
toll  me  rny  voice  will  certainly  yield  me." 

Flush  and  sparkle  had  died  out  of  her  face,  which,  in  ita 
worn,  haggard  pallor,  looked  five  years  older  than  when  she 
entered  the  parlor,  three  hours  before. 

"  Pecuniary  considerations  must  not  influence  you,  because, 
while  Janet  and  1  live,  you  shall  want  nothing ;  and  when  either 
lies,  you  will  be  liberally  provided  for.  Dismiss  from  your 
mind  a  muUer  that  has  long  been  decided,  and  which  no  wish 
of  yours  can  annul  or  alter." 

With  an  impatient  wav<   jf  the  hand,  she  answered,  — 

"  Gi  ve  to  poor  little  Jessie  and  Stanley  what  was  intended 
for  inc.  They  are  helpless,  but  J  can  take  care  of  myself;  and, 
moreover,  I  am  not  contented  here.  L  want  to  see  something 
of  the  world  in  which  —  !>on  gre  mal  ;/-i  e  —  L  iind  myself.  Let 
one  go.  Rousseau  was  a  sage.  '  Le  mo'nde  vst  le  tivre  ties 
femmea?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  said,  sorrowfully, — 

"No,  your  instincts  are  unreliable;  and  if  you  roam  away 
from  Jane  and  from  me,  you  will  sip  more  poison  than  honey. 
Be  wise,  and  remain  win-re  Providence  has  placed  you.  I  will 
Sring  Jessie  here,  and  you  shall  teach  her  what  you  choose,  and 
Si.itnley  can  command  all  the  educational  advantages  he  will 
improve.  After  a  while,  you  shall,  if  you  prefer  it,  have  a 
pleasant  home  of  your  own,  and  dwell  there  with  the  two  little 
ones.  Such  has  long  been  my  scheme  and  purpose ;  but,  during 
my  sifter's  life,  she  will  nc  ver  consent  to  give  you  up;  and  you 
19 


218  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DP  PAST. 

owe  it  to  her  not  to  desert  her  in  the  closing  year.*,  when  she 
most  urgently  requires  the  soluce  of  your  love  and  society." 

Salojie  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  something  like 
a  heavy  dry  sob  shook  her  frame ;  but  the  spring  of  bitterness 
soemed  sxhaustless,  and  her  voice  was  indescribably  scornful  la 
i(£  defiant  ring. 

"  You  are  very  charitable,  Dr.  Grey,  and  I  thank  you  for  ai] 
your  embryonic  benevolent  plans  for  me  and  my  pauper  rela, 
tives ;  but  I  have  drawn  a  very  different  map  for  my  fut.ire 
years.  You  seem  to  regard  this  house  as  a  second  "La  Tour 
giin-s  venin"  which,  like  its  prototype  near  Grenoble,  possesses 
an  atmosphere  fatal  to  all  poisonous,  noxious  things ;  but  surely 
you  forget  that  it  has  long  sheltered  me." 

"  No,  it  has  never  arrogated  the  prerogative  of  'La  Tour 
swns  veninj  but  of  one  thing,  my  poor  wilful  child,  you  shall 
never  have  reason  to  be  skeptical,  —  that  dear  Jane  and  I  will 
indefatigably  strive  to  serve  you  as  faithfully  and  successfully, 
as  did  in  ancient  days,  the  Psylli  whom  Plutarch  im 
mortalized." 

While  he  spoke  Dr.  Grey  had  been  turning  over  the  leaves 
of  the  old  family  Bible,  which  happened  to  lie  within  his  reach ; 
and  now,  without  premonition,  he  read  aloud  the  fifty-fifth 
Psalm. 

She  listened,  not  willingly,  but  ex  necessitate  rei,  and  rebel- 
iiously ;  and,  when  he  finished  the  Psalm,  and  knelt,  with  his  face 
on  his  arms,  which  were  crossed  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  she 
stood  haughtily  erect  and  motionless  beside  him. 

His  prayer  was  brief  and  fervent,  that  God  would  aid  her 
in  her  efforts  to  curb  her  passionate  temper,  and  to  walk  in 
accordance  with  the  teachings  of  Jesus;  and  that  he  would 
especially  over-rule  all  things,  and  guide  her  decision  in  the  im- 
jiortant  step  she  contemplated.  He  rose,  and  turned  towards 
her,  but  her  countenance  was  hidden. 

**  Good  night,  Salome.     God  bless  you  and  direct  you." 

She  raised  her  face,  and  her  eyes  sought  his  with  a  Icng, 
questioning,  pleading  gaze,  so  full  of  anguish  that  lie  could 
•carcely  endure  it.  Then  he  saw  the  last  spark  tf  hope  expire ; 


UNTIL  LKATIl    US  DO  PART.  219 

and  slid  bt.nt  her  queenly  head  an  instant,  and  silently  passed 
from  the  parlor. 

"  I  have  watched  my  first  and  holiest  hopes  depart, 

One  after  one ; 

I  have  held  the  hand  of  Death  upon  my  heart, 
And  made  no  moan." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

j A'RD ON  ray  intrusion,  Mrs.  Geronie,  and  ascribe  it 
to  Elsie's  anxiety  concerning  your  health  In  com- 

Pafca  pliance  with  her  i-equest,  I  have  come  to  ascertain 
whether  you  really  require  my  attention." 

Dr.  Grey  placed  his  hat  and  gloves  on  the  piano,  and  estab 
li.shed  himself  comfortably  in  a  large  chair  near  the  arch,  where 
Mrs.  (Jerome,  palette  in  hand,  sat  before  her  easel. 

"Elsie's  nerves  have  run  away  with  her  sound  common  sense, 
and  tilled  her  mind  with  vagaries.  She  imagines  that  I  need 
medicine,  whereas  I  only  require  quiet  and  peace,  whicli  neither 
she  nor  you  will  permit  me  to  enjoy." 

»She  did  not  even  glance  at  the  visitor,  but  mixed  some  colors 
rapidly,  and  deepened  the  rose-tints  in  a  cluster  of  applr«- 
blossoms  she  was  scattering  in  the.  foreground  of  a  picture. 

"  If  it  is  not  of  vital  importance  that  those  pearly  petals 
aliculd  be  finished  immediately,  I  should  be  glad  to  have  yo  > 
turn  your  face  towards  me  for  a  few  moments.  There.  —  thank 
you.  Mrs.  Gerome,  do  I  look  like  a  nervous,  whimsical  mun, 
whose  fauey  mastered  his  professional  judgment,  or  blunted  hi- 
acumen !'  " 

"  You  certainly  appear  as  phlegmatic,  as  utterly  unimagina 
tive,  as  any  lager-loving  German,  whom  Teniers  or  Ostade  e\  si 
painted  *  Unter  den  linden.'1 " 

"  Then  my  vords  should  possess  some  influence  when  they 


220  UNTIL  DEATH  US  LO  P^iliT. 

corroborate  Elsie's  state ruent>  fclmt  you  are  far  from  weli.  D« 
not  be  childishly  iucredulous,  and  impatiently  shake  your  head  j 
from  a  woman  of  your  age  and  sense  one  expects  more  dignity 
and  prudence." 

"  Sir,  ycur  ruden&«s  has  at  least  a  flavor  of  stern  honesty  that 
aiakee  it  almost  palatable.  Do  you  propose  to  take  my  case 
into  your  skilful  hands  ?  " 

"I  merely  propose  to  expostulate  with  you  upon  the  unfortu 
nate  and  ruinous  course  of  life  you  have  decided  to  pursue.  No 
eremite  of  the  Thebaid,  or  the  Nitroon,  is  more  completely 
immured  than  I  find  you ;  and  the  seclusion  from  society  is 
quite  as  deleterious  as  the  want  of  out-door  air  and  sunshine. 
Your  mind,  debarred  from  communion  with  your  race  and  de- 
uied  novel  and  refreshing  themes,  centres  in  its  own  operations 
and  creations,  broods  over  threadbare  topics  until  it  has  grown 
morbid;  and,  instead  of  deriving  healthful  nourishment  from 
the  world  that  surrounds  it,  exhausts  and  consumes  itself,  like 
fabled  Arachne,  spinning  its  substance  into  filmy  nothings." 

'*  Filmy  nothings  !  Thank  you.  I  flatter  myself,  when  I  am 
safely  housed  under  marble,  the  world  will  place  a  different 
estimate  upon  some  things  1  shall  leave  behind  to  challenge 
criticism." 

"  How  much  value  will  public  plaudits  possess  for  ears  sealed 
by  death  ?  Mrs.  Geroine,  you  are  too  lonely ;  you  must  have 
companionship  that  will  divert  your  thoughts." 

"  Not  I,  indeed  !  All  that  I  require,  I  have  in  abundance,  — 
music,  books,  and  my  art.  Here  I  am  independent,  for  remem 
ber  that  he  was  a  petted  son  of  fame,  who  said,  '  Books  are 
che  true  Elysian  fields,  where  the  spirits  of  the  dead  converse, 
and  into  these  fields  a  mortal  may  venture  unappalled.  What 
king's  court  can  boast  such  company,  —  what  school  of  phi- 
'.oiiophy  such  wisdom  ?  '  Verily  if  you  had  ever  examined  my 
dbrary  you  would  not  imagine  I  lacked  companionship.  Why 
sir,  yonder,  — 

'  The  old,  dead  authors  throng  me  round  about. 
And  Elzevir-s  gray  ghosts  from  leath?rn  grave?  kx>k  out ' 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  221 

Count  Oxenstiem  spoke  truly,  when  lie  declared,  ( Occupied 
with  the  great  minds  of  antiquity,  we  are  no  longer  annoyed  by 
contemporaneous  fools.' " 

She  rose  and  pointed  to  the  handsome  cases  in  the  rear  room, 
filled  with  choice  volumes ;  and,  while  she  stood  with  one  ana 
resting  on  the  easel,  Dr.  Grey  looked  searchLugly  at  her. 

To-day  there  was  a  spirituelle  beauty  in  the  white  face  thai 
he  had  never  seen  before  ',  and  the  large  eloquent  eyes  were  full 
of  dreamy  sunset  radiance,  unlike  their  wonted  steely  glitter.  A 
change,  vague  and  indefinable,  but  unmistakable,  had  certaii  ly 
passed  over  that  countenance  since  its  owner  came  to  reside  at 
"  Solitude,"  and,  instead  of  marring,  had  heightened  its  loveli 
ness.  The  features  were  thinner,  the  cheeks  had  lost  something 
of  their  pure  oval  moulding,  and  the  delicate  nostrils  were 
almost  transparent  in  their  waxen  curves ;  but  the  arch  of  the 
lip  was  softened  and  lowered,  and  the  face  was  like  that  of  some 
marble  goddess  on  which  midsummer  moonshine  sleeps. 

Her  white  mull  robe  was  edged  at  the  skirt  and  up  the  front 
with  a  rich  border  of  blue  morning-glories,  and  a  blue  cord  and 
tassel  girded  it  at  her  waist,  while  the  broad  braids  of  hair  at 
the  back  of  her  head  were  looped  and  fastened  with  a  ribbon  of 
the  same  color.  Her  sleeves  were  gathered  up  to  keep  them 
clear  of  the  paint  on  the  palette,  and  the  dimples  were  no  longer 
visible  in  her  arms.  The  ivory  flesh  was  shrinking  closer  to  the 
small  bones,  and  the  diaphanous  hands  were  so  thin  that  the 
sapphire  asp  glided  almost  off  the  slender  finger  around  which 
it  was  coiled. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  you  have  lost  twenty  pounds  of  flesh  -within 
tie  last  two  months,  and  your  extreme  pallor  alarms  me." 

"  All  things  look  pallid  in  these  rooms,  for  the  light  is  bluish, 
reflected  from  carpet,  furniture,  and  curtains." 

"  I  have  noticed  that  you  invariably  wear  blue,  to  the  exclu- 
Bion  of  all  other  colors." 

"  Yes.     Throughout  the  Levant  it  is  considered  a  mortuary 

color  ;  and,  moreover,  I  like  its  symbolism.    Th(  Jlfate*  dolorosa 

often  wears  blue  vestments;  also  the  priests  during  Lent;  and 

even  the  images  of  Christ  are  veiled  i«   blue,  as  holy  week  ap 

19* 


222  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PAST. 

preaches.  Azure,  in  its  absolute  significance,  repreisents  truth, 
and  is  the  symbol  of  the  soul  after  death ;  so,  as  I  walk  ch« 
earth,  —  a  fleshy  'death  in  life,'  —  I  clothe  myself  symboli 
cally.  In  pagan  cosmogonies  the  Creator  is  always  colored  blue 
Jupiter  Ammon,  Vischnou,  Cneph,  Krischna,  —  all  are  azure. 
Aud  because  it  is  a  solemn,  consecrated  color,  mystic  and  mou.ni- 
fij,  I  wear  it." 

"  My  dear  madam,  this  is  a  morbid  whimsicality  that  trenclie* 
closely  upon  monomania,  and  would  be  more  tolerable  in  a  lack 
adaisical  school-girl,  than  in  a  mature,  intelligent,  and  gifted 
woman.  Some  of  your  fantasies  would  be  positively  respectable 
in  a  Bedlamite,  and  you  seem  an  anomalous  compound  of 
eccentricities  peculiar  to  extreme  youth  and  to  advanced  age." 

"  I  believe,  sir,  that  you  are  entirely  correct  in  your  analysis 
I  stand  before  you,  young  in  years,  but  forsaken  by  that  '  blue- 
eyed  Hope '  who  frolics  hand  in  hand  with  youth ;  and  yet^ 
utterly  devoid  of  that  philosophy  and  wisdom  which  justly 
belong  to  the  old  age  of  my  heart." 

Her  tone  was  indescribably  weary,  and,  as  she  laid  aside  hei 
brush  and  folded  her  hands  together  on  the  cross-beam  of  the 
easel,  the  transient  light  died  out  of  her  countenance,  and  the 
worn,  tired  look,  came  back  and  settled  on  every  feature. 

"  The  soft,  ead  eyes, 

Set  like  twilight  planets  in  the  rainy  skies, — 
With  the  brow  all  patience,  and  the  lips  all  pain," — 

wove  a  strange  spell  o~ver  the  visitor,  whose  gaze  was  riveted  o» 
the  only  woman  who  had  ever  aroused  even  temporary  interest 
in  his  heart. 

She  was  always  beautiful,  but  to-day  there  was  a  helpless, 
hopeless  abandonment  in  her  listless  demeanor,  that  appealed 
successfully  to  the  manly  tenderness  and  chivalry  of  his  nature  ; 
and  into  his  strong,  true,  noble  soul,  came  a  longing  to  cheer, 
and  guide,  and  redeem  this  strange,  desolate  woman,  whose 
personal  loveliness  would  have  made  her  regnant  over  the  gay 
circles  of  fashionable  life,  yet  whose  existence  was  more  lonalj 
tlwi  that  of  an  eaglet  in  some  mountain  eyrie. 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PAST.  22S 

lusing,  lie  leaned  against  the  easel  and  looked  down  into  th* 
colorless  face  that  possessed  such  a  wondrous  charm  for  him. 

u Mrs.  Gerome,  for  natures  diseased  like  yours,  the  only 
remedy,  the  only  cure,  is  earnest,  vigorous  labor ;  and  the  re<»i 
men  you  really  require  is  rnournfrlly  at  variance  with  you\ 
present  habits  and  modes  of  thought." 

"  I  do  labor  incessantly ;  more  indefatigably  than  any  plough 
IUHII,  or  mason,  or  carpenter.  Your  prescription  has  bseia 
thoroughly  tested,  and  found  worthless,  as  an  antidote  to  my 
malady,  —  hopelessness." 

"  Unfortunately  the  labor  has  all  been  mental ;  heart  and  soul 
have  stood  aloof,  while  the  brain  almost  wore  itself  out.  This 
canvas  is  destroying  you;  your  creations  are  too  rapid,  too 
exhausting." 

"  Dr.  Grey,  you  grievously  misapprehend  the  whole  matter, 
for  my  work  reminds  me  of  what  Cauova  once  said  of  West's 
pictures,  '  He  groups ;  he  does  not  compose.'  " 

Dr.  Grey  put  his  hand  on  her  wrist,  and  counted  the  rapid, 
feeble,  irregular  pulse. 

She  made  an  effort  to  throw  off  his  fingers,  but  they  clung 
tenaciously  to  the  polished  arm. 

"  How  many  hours  do  jou  sleep,  during  the  twenty-four?  " 

"  Sometimes  three,  occasionally  one,  frequently  none." 

"  How  much  longer  do  you  suppose  your  constitution  will 
endure  such  merciless  taxation  ?  " 

"  I  know  very  little  about  these  things,  and  care  still  less,  but 
as  Ilame  Tooke  said,  when  a  foreigner  inquired  how  much 
treason  an  Englishman  might  venture  to  write  without  being 
hanged,  '  I  can  not  inform  you  just  yet,  but  I  am  trying.' " 

"  Has  life  become  such  an  intolerable  burden  that  you  are 
irr:  ,:.itient  to  shake  it  off?  " 

'*  Even  so,  Dr.  Grey.  When  Elsie  dies  the  last  link  will  hava 
snapped,  and  I  trust  I  shall  not  long  survive  her.  If  I  prayed 
at  all,  it  would  be  for  speedy  death." 

"  If  you  prayed  at  all,  existence  would  not  prove  so  wearisome  j 
for  resignation  would  cure  half  your  woes." 

"Confine  your  prescriptions  to  the  bocl}-,  —  that  is  tangibly 


224  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

and  may  be  handled  and  scrutinized ;  but  venture  nc  nostrums 
for  a  heart  and  soul  of  which  you  know  nothing.     Once  I  wa» 
almost  a  Moslem  in  the  frequency  and  fervor  of  my  prayers ;  but 
now,  the  only  petition  I  could  force  myself  to  offer  would  be 
that  prayer  of  Epictetus,  'Lead  me,  Zeus  and  Destiny,  whith&f 
toever  I  am  appointed  to  go  /  I  will  follow  without  wavering 
even  though  I  turn  coward  and  shrink,  I  shall  li&ve  to  follow^  cut 
the  earned  " 

Dr.  Grey  sighed  heavily,  and  answered, — 

"  It  is  painful  to  hear  from  feminine  lips  a  fatalism  so  grind 
as  to  make  all  prayer  a  mockery ;  and  it  would  seem  that  the 
loss  of  those  dear  to  you,  would  have  insensibly  and  unavoidably 
drawn  your  heart  heavenward,  in  search  of  its  transplanted 
idols." 

He  knew  from  the  sudden  spasm  that  seized  her  calm  features, 
and  shuddered  through  her  tall  figure,  that  he  had  touched, 
perhaps  too  rudely,  some  chord  in  her  nature  which  — 

"  Made  the  coiled  memory  numb  and  cold, 

That  slept  in  her  heart  like  a  dreaming  snake, 
Drowsily  lift  itself,  fold  by  fold, 

And  gnaw,  and  gnaw  hungrily,  half -awake." 

"Ah,  indeed,  my  heart  was  drawn  after  them, — but  nol 
heavenward  !  No,  no,  no  !  My  idols  were  not  transplanted,  — 
they  were  shattered  !  —  shattered  !  " 

She  leaned  forward,  looking  up  into  his  face;  And,  raising  her 
hand  impressively,  she  continued  in  a  voice  so  mournful,  K 
hopelessly  bitter,  that  Dr.  Grey  shivered  as  he  listened. 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  who  stand  gazing  down  in  sorrowful  reproach 
;pon  what  you  regard  as  my  unpardonable  impiety,  little  dreaic 
of  the  fiery  ordeal  that  consumed  my  childlike,  beautiful  faitb,  as 
flames  crisp  and  blacken  chaff.  I  am  alone,  and  must  ever  bCj 
while  in  the  flesh ;  and  I  hoard  my  pain,  sparing  the  world  my 
moans  and  tears,  my  wrj  faces  and  desperate  struggles.  I  tei1 
you,  Dr.  Grey, — 


UNTIL  DEATH  U&   DO  PAMT.  22$ 

*  None  know  the  choice  I  made ;  I  make  it  stilL 

None  know  the  choice  I  made,  and  broke  my  heart, 
Breaking  mine  idol ;  I  have  braced  my  will 

Once,  chosen  for  once  my  part. 
I  broke  it  at  a  blow,  I  laid  it  cold, 

Crushed  in  my  deep  heart  where  it  used  to  liYe. 
My  heart  dies  inch  by  inch ;  the  time  grovs  old, 

Grows  old  in  ;vhich  I  grieve. '  " 

He  did  not  conipi  ehend  her,  but  fcli.  that  her  past  must  n&\s 
been  melancholy  indeed,  of  which  t'.e  bare  memory  vcas  BC 
torturing. 

"At  least,  Mrs.  Gerome,  let  us  thank  God,  that  beyond  the 
grave  there  remains  an  eternal  reunion  with  your  idol,  and  —  " 

"  God  forbid  !  You  talk  at  random,  and  your  suggestion 
would  drive  me  mad,  if  I  believed  it.  Let  me  be  quiet." 

She  walked  away,  and  seemed  intently  watching  the  sea,  of 
whose  protean  face  she  never  wearied ;  and,  puzzled  and  tanta 
lized,  Dr.  Grey  turned  to  examine  the  unfinished  picture. 

It  represented  an  almost  colossal  woman,  kneeling  under  an 
apple-tree,  with  her  folded  hands  lifted  towards  a  setting  sun 
tliat  glared  from  purple  hills,  across  waving  fields  of  green  and 
golden  grain.  The  azure  mantle  that  enveloped  the  rounded 
form,  flouted  on  the  wind  and  seemed  to  melt  in  air,  so  dim 
were  its  graceful  outlines ;  and  on  one  shoulder  perched  a  dove 
with  head  under  its  wing,  nestling  to  sleep,  —  while  a  rabbit 
nibbled  the  grass  at  her  feet,  and  a  squirrel  curled  himself  com 
fortably  on  the  border  of  her  robe.  In  the  foreground  wer^ 
scattered  sheaves  of  yellow  wheat,  full  ears  of  corn,  bunches  of 
blue,  bloom-covered  grapes,  clusters  of  olives,  and  variout 
delicate  flowers  whose  brilliant  hues  teemed  drippings  from  somt 
wrung  and  broken  rainbow. 

The  face  was  unlike  flesh  and  blood,  —  was  dim,  elfish,  wan, 
with  large,  mild  eyes,  as  blue  and  misty  as  the  nebulas,  that 
Ilerachel  found  in  Southern  skies,  —  eyes  that  looked  at  nothing. 
but  seemed  to  penetrate  the  universe  and  shed  sso^t  solemn  light 
over  all  things.  Back  from  the  broad,  low  brow,  floated  a  t-lcriol 
of  silky  yellow  hair,  that  glittered  in  the  slanting  rays  of  s;:n 
shine  as  if  powdered  with  gold  dust ;  and  over  its  streaming 


226  UNTIL  DEATH   U3  DO  PART. 

stranda  fluttered  two  mottled  butterflies,  and  \\  honey-laden  bee 
On  distant  hill-slopes  cattle  browsed,  and  at  the  right  of  tht 
kneeling  woman  a  young  lamb  nibbled  a  cluster  of  snowy  lilies, 
while  a  dappled  fawn  watched  the  gambols  of  a  dim  kid  ;  or.d 
on  the  left,  in  a  tuft  of  bearded  grass,  a  brown  snake  arohed  its 
steck  to  peer  at  a  brood  of  half-Hedged  partridges. 

"  Mrs.  Geroine,  will  yor.  be  so  kind  as  to  explain  this  mytbo 
'».ogic  design  ?  " 

Sh }  came  back  to  the  easel,  and  took  up  her  palette. 

"  If  it  requires  an  explanation  it  is  an  egregious  failure,  and 
shall  find  a  vacant  corner  in  some  rubbish  garret." 

"  It  is  exceedingly  beautiful,  but  I  do  not  fully  comprehend 
the  symbolism." 

"  If  it  does  not  clearly  mean  the  one  thing  for  which  it  was 
Intended,  it  means  nothing,  and  is  worthless.  Look,  sir,  she  — 

'  Forgets,  remembers,  grieves,  and  is  not  sad ; 

The  quiet  lands  and  skies  leave  light  upon  her  eyes; 
None  knowo  her  weak,  or  wise,  or  tired,  or  glad.' " 

Dr.  Grey  bit  his  lip,  but  shook  his  head. 

u  You  must  read  me  your  painted  riddle  more  explicitly,  la 
it  Ceres?" 

"  No,  sir ;  a  few  sheaves  do  not  make  a  harvest.  I  am  a  stupid 
bungler,  spoiling  canvas  and  wasting  paint,  or  else  you  are  as  ob 
tuse  as  the  critics  who  may  one  day  hover  hungrily  over  it.  Try 
the  aid  of  one  more  clew,  and  if  you  fail  to  catch  my  purpose,  I 
will  dash  my  brush  all  loaded  with  ochre,  right  into  those  a'ys- 
ac,  prescient  oyes,  and  blur  them  forever.  Listen,  ar.d  guess,  — 

'  This  is  my  lady's  praise ; 
God  after  many  days 
Wrought  her  in  unknown  ways, 

In  sunset  lands ; 
This  was  my  lady's  birth, 
God  gave  her  might  and  mirth 
And  laid  his  whole  sweet  earth 

Between  her  hands. '  " 

"  Pray  do  not  visit  the  sin  of  my  stupidity  upon  that  fascina 
ting  picture.  I  am  not  familiar  with  the  lines  you  quote,  but 


UNTIL  DEATH  L'S  DO   PART.  227 


tliat  you  have  represented  Nature,  have  eniLo/df.  J  ari  :deaJ 
isis,  or  Hertlu*,  or  Cybele  ;  though  1  can  not  positively  nanie 
the  phase  of  the  Universal  Mother,  which  you  have  seized  and 
perpetuated." 

He  caught  her  arm,  and  removed  from  her  fingers  the  palette 
s.nd  brushes. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  it  is  more  than  either  or  all  of  tht>  three  yots 
mention  ;  fcr  Persian  mythology,  like  Persian  wines  and  Persian 
roses,  is  richer,  more  subtle,  more  fragrant,  more  glowing  than 
any  other.  That  woman  is  '  Espendennad?  " 

"Thank  you;  now  I  comprehend  the  whole.  God  has 
endowed  you  with  wonderful  talent.  The  fruit  and  flowers  in 
that  foreground  must  have  cost  you  much  labor,  for  indeed  you 
seem  to  have  faithfully  followed  the  injunction  of  Titian, 
'  Study  the  effect  of  light  and  shade  on  a  bunch  of  grapes.'  That 
luscious  amber  cluster  lying  near  the  poppies  is  tantalizingly 
suggestive  of  Pthineland,  and  of  the  vines  that  garland  the  hills 
of  Crete  and  Cyprus." 

A  shade  of  annoyance  and  disappointment  crossed  the  artist's 
face. 

"  Now,  L  quite  realize  what  Cespedes  felt,  when,  finding  that 
visitors  were  absorbed  by  the  admirable  finish  of  some  jars  and 
vases  in  the  foreground  of  the  '  Last  Supper,  '  upon  which  he  had 
expended  so  much  time  and  thought,  he  called  his  servant  and 
exclaimed  in  great  chagrin,  'Andres,  rub  me  out  these  things, 
since,  after  all  my  care  and  study,  people  choose  to  see  nothing 
but  these  impertinences.'  '' 

"  If  Zeuxis'  grandest  triumph  consisted  in  painting  grapes,  yon 
assuredly  should  nut  take  umbrage  at  my  praise  of  that  fruit  on 
your  canvas,  which  hints  of  Tokay  arid  Laehrima  Christi.  I  am 
not  an  artist,  but  f  have  studied  the  best  pictures  in  Europe  and 
America,  and  you  must  acquit  me  of  any  desire  to  flatter  when 
I  tell  you  that  background  yonder  is  one  of  the  most  extraordi 
nary  successes  .1  have  ever  seen,  from  either  amateur  or 
professional  ]  tainters." 

Mrs.  Gerome  arched  her  blac.-k  brows  slightly,  and  replied,  — 

"Then  the  success  was  accidental,  and  [  stumbled  upon  it., 


S28  UFTIL  DEATH  US  D(;   PART. 

for  I  bestow  little  study  on  the  backgrounds  of  my  •work.  The5 
are  mere  dim  distances  of  bluish  haze,  and  do  tot  interest  me 
and,  since  I  paint  for  amusement,  I  give  most  thought  to  mj 
central  figure." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  the  anecdote  of  Rubens,  who,  when 
offered  a  pupil  with  the  recommendation  that  he  was  sunicien-lj 
advanced  in  Jiis  studies  to  assist  him  at  once  in  his  Vftckgroirada, 
laughed,  and  answered,  ( If  the  youth  was  capable  of  painting 
backgrounds  he  did  not  need  his  instruction;  because  the 
regulation  and  management  of  them  required  the  most  compre 
hensive  knowledge  of  the  art.'  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  aware  that  is  one  of  the  dogmata  of  the  craft,  but 
Rubens  was  no  more  infallible  than  you  or  I,  and  his  pictures 
give  me  less  pleasure  than  those  of  any  other  artist  of  equal 
celebrity.  Dr.  Grey,  if  I  am  even  a  tolerable  judge  of  my  own 
work,  the  best  thing  I  have  yet  achieved  is  the  drapery  of  that 
form.  Perhaps  I  am  inclined  to  plume  myself  upon  this  point, 
from  the  fact  that  it  was  the  opinion  of  Carlo  Maratti  that 
*The  arrangement  of  drapery  is  more  difficult  than  drawing  the 
human  figure ;  because  the  right  effect  depends  more  upon  the 
taste  of  the  artist  than  upon  any  given  rules.'  That  sweep  of 
blue  gauze  has  cost  me  more  toil  than  everything  else  on  the 
canvas." 

"  Pardon  the  expression  of  my  curiosity  concerning  your 
modes  of  composition  in  these  singular  and  quaint  creations,  for 
which  you  have  no  models ;  and  tell  me  how  this  ideal  presented 
itself  to  your  imagination." 

"Dr.  Grey,  I  am  not  a  great  genius  like  Goethe,  and  unfortu 
nately  can  not  candidly  echo  his  declaration,  that,  'Nothing 
evei  came  to  mo  in  my  sleep.'  I  can  scarcely  tell  you  when  thir. 
idea  wa*  nrst  born  in  my  busy,  tireless  brain,  Vrt  it  took  fonr.< 
one  evening  after  I  had  read  Charlotte  Bronte's  '  Woman  Titan,' 
in  '  Shirley,'  an )  compared  it  with  that  glowing  description  of 
Jran  Paiil  RicLter,  '  And  so  the  Sun  stands  a4;  the  border  of 
Jkhe  Earth,  and  looks  back  on  his  stately  Spring,  \vhot"?  robe-folds 
are  valleys,  whose  breast-bouquet  is  gardens,  whose  blush  is  * 
evening,  and  who,  when  she  rises,  will  be 


UNTIL  DEATH   >7J3  LO  PART.  229 

Still  it  was  vague,  and  eluded  me,  until  I  found  somewhere  in 
my  most  desultory  reading,  an  account  of  '  J£spendermcd,'  one 
of  the  six  angels  of  Ormuzd,  to  whom  was  entrusted  the  guardi 
anship  of  the  earth.  That  night  I  dreamed  that  I  stood  undei 

*  vine  at  Schiraz,  gathering  golden-tinted  grapes,  when  a  voice 
arrested  me,  and,  looking  over  my  shoulder,  1  saw  that  face 
peeping  at  me  across  a  hedge  of  crimson  roses.     Next  day  1 
sketched  the  features  as  they  had  appeared  in  my  dream,  but  T 
was  not  fully  satisfied,  and  waited  and  pondered.    Finally,  I  read 
'  M  'idonna  Mia,'  and  then  all  was  as  you  see  it  now,  startlingly 
distinct  and  palpable." 

"  Why  did  you  not  select  some  dusky-haired,  dusky-eyed, 
olive-tinted  oriental  type,  instead  of  a  blonde  who  might  safely 
venture  into  Valhalla  as  a  genuine  Celtic  iduna  ?  " 

"  With  the  exception  of  the  yellow  locks,  I  suspect  the  face 
of  my  '  Espvndermad '  might  easily  be  matched  among  the 
maidens  of  the  Caucasus,  who  furnish  the  most  perfect  types  of 
Circassian  beauty.  You  know  there  is  a  tradition  that  when 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  chanced  to  meet  a  man  with  an  expression 
of  character  that  he  wished  to  make  use  of  in  his  work,  he 
followed  him  until  he  was  able  to  delineate  the  face  on  canvas ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  the  countenances  I  paint  present  themselves 
to  my  imagination,  and  pursue  me  inexorably  until  I  put  them 
into  pigment.  I  do  riot  possess  ideals,  —  they  seize  and  possess 
me,  teasing  me  for  form  and  color,  and  forcing  me  to  object 
them  on  canvas.  Such  is  the  modus  operandi  of  whims  that 
give  me  my  '  Espendermad '  praying  to  the  Sun  for  benisons  on 
the  Earth,  which  she  is  appointed  to  guard.  Ah,  if  like  the 
lambkins  and  birds,  I,  too,  could  creep  to  the  starry  border  of 
her  azure  robe,  and  lay  my  weary  head  down  and  find  repose 
Some  day,  if  my  mind  ever  grows  calm  enough,  I  want  to  paint 

*  picture  of  Kest,  that  J  can  hang  on  my  wall  and  look  upon 
when  I  am  worn  out  in  body  and  soul,  when,  indeed, — 

4  My  feet  are  wearied,  and  my  nands  ai  e  tired, 

My  heart  oppressed, 
And  I  desire,  what  I  long  desired, 
Rest. —only  Beat.'" 


230  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

"  My  dear  madam,  unless  you  speedily  change  your 
mode  of  life,  you  will  not  paint  that  contemplated  picture,  for  a 
long  re?t  will  soon  overtake  you." 

A  gleam  that  was  nearer  akin  to  joy  than  any  expression  he 
•tad  yet  seen,  passed  from  eye  to  lip,  and  she  answered, 


"  If  that  be  true,  it  offers  a  premium  for  the  continuance  or 
hafeits  you  condemn  so  strenuously  ;  but  I  dare  not  hope  it,  ami 
I  beg  of  you  not  to  tantalize  me  with  vain  expectations  of 
a  release  that  may  yet  be  far,  far  distant." 

Dr.  Grey's  heart  stirred  with  earnest  sympathy  for  this 
lonely  hopeless  soul,  who,  standing  almost  upon  the  threshold  of 
life,  stretched  her  arms  so  yearningly  to  woo  the  advance  of 
death. 

The  room  was  slowly  filling  with  shadows,  and,  leaning  there 
against  her  easel,  she  looked  as  unearthly  as  the  pearly  forms 
that  summer  clouds  sometimes  assume,  when  a  harvest-moon 
springs  up  from  sea  foam,  and  fog,  and  stares  at  them.  When 
she  spoke  again,  her  voice  was  chill  and  crisp. 

"  My  malady  is  beyond  your  reach,  and  baffles  human  skill. 
You  mean  only  kindness,  and  I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you, 
but  alas  !  the  sentiment  of  gratitude  is  such  a  stranger  in  my 
heart,  that  it  has  yet  to  learn  an  adequate  language.  Dr.  Grey, 
the  only  help  you  can  possibly  render  me  is  to  prolong  Elsie's 
life.  As  for  me,  and  my  uncertain  future,  give  yourself  no 
charitable  solicitude.  Do  you  recollect  what  Lessing  wrote  to 
Claudius?  '  I  am  too  proud  to  own  that  I  am  unhappy.  I  shnt 
my  teeth,  and  let  the  bark  drift.  Enough  that  I  do  not  turn  it 
over  with  my  own  hands.'  Elsie  is  signalling  for  me.  Do  you 
bear  that  bell  ?  Good-night,  Dr.  Grey." 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  231 


CHAPTER   XVIU. 

E  had  a  long  conversation  vith  Qlpian,  and 
find  him  violently  opposed  to  the  scheme  you  men 
tioned  to  me  several  days  since.  He  declares  he 
trill  gladly  share  his  last  dollar  with  you  sooner  than  see  you 
embark  in  a  career  so  fraught  with  difficulties,  trials,  and  — 

Miss  Jane  paused  to  find  an  appropriate  word,  and  Salome 
very  promptly  supplied  her. 

"  Temptations.    That  is  exactly  what  yoxi  both  mean.    Go  on." 

"  Well,  yes,  dear.  I  am  afraid  the  profession  you  have  selected 
is  beset  with  dangerous  allurements  for  one  so  inexperienced 
and  unsophisticated  as  yourself." 

"  Bah !  Speak  out.  I  am  sick  of  circumlocution.  What  do 
you  understand  by  unsophisticated  ?  " 

"Why,  I  mean, — well,  what  can  I  mean  but  just  what  the 
word  expresses,  —  unsophisticated  ?  That  is,  young,  thoughtless, 
ignorant  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  the  excessive  cunning 
and  deceit  of  human  nature." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  it  has  another  significance,  which  you 
will  find  if  you  look  into  your  dictionary,  —  that  blessed  Magna 
Charta  of  linguistic  rights  and  privileges.  I  do  not  claim  the 
prerogatives  of  Ruskm's  class  of  the  'well  educated,  who  are 
'learned  in  the  peerage  of  words ;  know  the  words  of  true  de 
scent  and  ancient  blood  at  a  glance,  from  words  of  modern 
'xvnaille  / '  but  I  venture  the  assertion  that  I.  am  sufficiently 
sophisticated  to  plunge  into  the  vortex  of  public  life,  and  yet 
keep  my  heal  above  water." 

"  I  don't  want  to  set;  my  little  girl  an  actress,  or  a  jyrinka 
vonna,  bold,  forward,  and  eager  to  face  a  noisy,  clamorous  crowd, 
who  feel  privileged  to  say  just  what  they  please  about  her.  It 
would  break  my  heart;  and,  if  you  are  bent  on  such  a  step, 
1  hope  you  will  wait,  at  least,  till  I  am  dead." 

"  You  ought  to  be  willing  to  sec;  rne  do  anything  hone-st,  fcnait 
mil  secure  my  dependent  broiher  and  sister  frcm  want.'"' 


»2  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  The  necessity  of  laboring  for  them  is  not  especially  impera 
tive  at  this  juncture,  and  why  should  you  be  more  sensitive 
now  than  formerly  ?  Do  not  deceive  yourself,  dear  child,  bui 
face  the  truth,  no  matter  how  ugly  it  may  possibly  be.  It  is 
not  a  sense  of  duty  to  the  younger  children,  but  an  inflattxi 
raaity,  that  prompts  you  to  parade  your  beauty  and  your  won 
derful  voice  on  the  stage,  where  they  will  elicit  applause  arui 
flattering  adulation.  My  little  girl,  that  is  the  most  dangerous, 
the  most  unhealthy  atmosphere,  a  woman  can  possibly  breathe.'* 

"Pray  tell  me  how  you  learned  all  this  ?  You,  who  have 
npent  your  life  in  this  quiet  old  house,  who  have  been  almost  as 
secluded  as  some  Cambrian  Ouldee,  can  really  know  nothing  of 
chat  public  life  you  condemn  so  bitterly." 

"  The  history  of  those  who  have  walked  in  the  path  you  are 
now  preparing  to  follow,  proves  the  deleterious  influences  and 
ruinous  associations  that  surround  that  class  of  women." 

"  Jenny  Lind  and  Sarah  Siddons  redeem  any  class,  no  matter 
how  much  maligned." 

"  But  what  assurance  have  I,  that,  unlike  the  ninety-nine, 
you  will  resemble  the  one-hundredth  ?  " 

"  Only  try  me,  Miss  Jane." 

"Ah,  child  !  A  rash  boy  said  the  same  thing  when  he  tried 
to  drive  the  sun,  and  not  only  consumed  himself  but  nearly 
burned  up  the  world.  There  is  rather  too  much  at  stoke  to 
warrant  such  reckless  experiments." 

"Quit  mythology,  —  it  is  not  in  your  line,  —  and  come  back 
to  stern  facts  and  serious  realities.  Because  I  wish  to  danoa 
a  quadrille  or  cotillion,  and  acquit  myself  creditably,  does  it 
ensue  as  an  inexorable  consequence,  that  I  shall  join  some  stroll 
ing  ballet  troiipe,  and  out-Bayadore  the  Bayaderes?  " 

"  That  depends  altogether  upon  your  agility  and  grace.  If 
you  could  reasonably  hope  to  rival  your  Hebrew  namesake,  1 
am  afraid  my  little  girl  would  think  it  '  her  duty '  to  dance 
instead  of  to  fling,  for  the  acquisition  of  a  fortune;  and  insist 
upon,  executing  wonderful  things  with  her  heels  and  toes,  instead 
of  her  voice." 

*'  T  ou  and  Dr.  Grey  seem  to  have  simultaneously  arrived  at 


UNTIL   DEATH  US  DO  PART,  233 

the  charitable  conclusion  that  my  heart  is  pretty  much  in  the 
same  condition  that  the  Hebrew  temple  was,  when  Christ  nn>ler- 
took  to  drive  out  the  profane.  Thongs  in  hand  you  two  have 
overturned  my  motives,  and,  by  a  very  summary  court-martial, 
condemned  them  to  be  scourged  out.  Now,  mark  you,  I  am 
neither  milking  change  nor  selling  doves,  and  still  less  are  yot, 
ind  your  brother  —  Jesus.  Dr.  Grey  does  me  the  honor  to 
indulge  a  chronic  skepticism  concerning  the  possibility  of  any 
£ood  and  unselfish  impulse  in  my  nature,  and  I  am  sorry  to  see 
that  you  have  caught  the  contagious  doubt  of  me,  and  of  my 
motives." 

She  began  the  sentence  in  a  challenging,  sneering  voice,  but 
'.t  was  ended  in  a  lower  and  faltering  tone. 

"While  in  the  light  of  her  Inrg-e  angry  eyes, 
Uprose  and  rose  a  slow  imperious  sorrow." 

"  My  Jear,  don't  attempt  to  whip  Ulpian  over  my  shoulders* 
You  know  very  well  that  T  have  invested  in  you  an  amount  of 
faith  that  the  united  censure  of  the  world  cannot  shake ;  and 
if  Ulpian  does  not  follow  my  example,  whose  fault  is  it,  I  should 
be  glad  to  know?  Evidently  not  his,  —  certainly  not  mine, — 
but  undoubtedly  yours.  F  have  noticed  that  you  took  extra 
ordinary  care  and  a  very  peculiar  pleasure  in  making  him  be 
lieve  you  much  worse  in  all  respects  than  you  really  are ;  and 
since  you  have  labored  so  industriously  to  lower  yourself  in  his 
estimation,  it  would  bo  a  poor  compliment  to  your  skill  and 
snergy  if  I  told  you  that  you  had  not  entirely  succeeded  in 
rour  rather  remarkable  aim.  Before  he  came  home  you  wero 
as  contented,  and  amiable,  and  happy,  as  my  old  cat  there  on  the 
rug ;  but  Ulpian's  appearance  affected  you  as  the  entrance  of  a 
Jog  does  my  maltese,  who  arches  her  back,  and  growls,  and  claww, 
as  long  as  he  is  in  sight.  T  am  truly  sorry  you  two  could  never 
agree,  but  I  feel  bound  to  tell  you  that  you  have  only  yourself 
to  blame.  1  do  not  claim  that  my  sailer-boy  is  a  sair.t,  but  he 
is  assuredly  some  inches  nearer  sanctiii cation  than  my  poor  littla 
Salome.  Don't  you  think  so?  Be  honest,  dwar  " 
20* 


234  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Miss  Jane's  hand  tenderly  caressed  tlie  beautiful  nead;  and, 
as  Salome  was  too  sullen  01  too  much  mortified  to  reply,  th« 
old  lidy  continued, — 

h  Nevertheless,  Ulpian  is  a  true  and  devoted  friend,  and  can 
tot  bear  the  thought  of  your  leaving  us,  for  any  purpose,  much 
*«3  the  one  you  contemplate.  Last  night  he  said,  'Janet,  1 
*m  her  brother,  and  think  you  I  shall  allow  my  sister  to  go  out 
from  the  sacred  precincts  of  home,  and  become  a  target  for  the 
envy  and  malice  of  the  better  classes  who  will  criticise  her, 
and  for  the  coarse  plaudits  of  the  pit  ?  Do  you  suppose  1  can 
willingly  see  her  bare  feet  turned  towards  a  path  paved  with 
glowing  ploughshares?  Tell  her,  for  me,  that  if  ever  she  should 
carry  her  unfortunate  freak  into  execution,  I  shall  never  wish 
to  touch  her  hand  again,  for  I  shall  feel  that  it  has  lost  its 
purivy  in  the  clasp  of  many  to  whom  she  can  not  refuse  it 
during  a  professional  career.'  " 

The  orphan  lifted  her  head  from  the  arm  of  Miss  Jane's  chair, 
v-liare  it  had  rested  for  some  minutes,  and  striking  her  palms 
forcibly  together,  she  exclaimed,  proudly, — 

"  Teil  Dr.  Grey  1  humbly  thank  him,  but  the  threat  has  losi 
its  stin^;  and  if  I  should  chance  to  meet  him  years  hence, 
though  uiy  hands  shall  be  pure  and  clean  as  Una's,  and  as  un 
sullied  a»s  his  own,  —  so  help  me  heaven!  I  will  never  thrust 
my  touch  on  his,  nor  so  far  forget  myself  as  to  suffer  his 
fingers  to  approach  mine.  When  I  pass  from  this  tlrreshold, 
we  will  have  shaken  hands  forever." 

"  Dr.  Grey's  ears  are  not  proof  against  such  elevated,  ringing 
tones  of  voice,  and  he  could  not  avoid  hearing,  as  he  came  up 
the  steps,  the  childish  words  which  he  assures  you  he  has  no 
intention  of  believing  or  remembering." 

He  had  tapped  twice  at  the  half-open  door,  and  now  camo 
forward  with  a  firm,  quick  step,  to  the  ottoman  where  Salome 
sat.  Taking  her  hands,  he  patted  the  palms  softly  against  each 
other,  and  smiling  good-humoredly,  continued,  — 

"  They  are  very  white,  and  shapely,  and  pure,  and  I  am  not 
*fraid  that  ny  little  sister  will  soil  them.  Her  brother  looks 
forward  to  the  day  when  they  will  gently  and  gracefully 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  23ft 

i.iin  IB  Ins  work  among  God's  suffering  poor.  I  have  not  for 
gotten  how  dexteroxis  and  docile  I  found  your  fingers,  when  3 
had  temporarily  lost  the  use  of  my  own,  and  I  shall  not  ftul  t>. 
levy  contributions  of  labor  in  the  coming  years." 

She  had  snatched  her  fingers  from  his,  and  no  sooner  had  h? 
ceased  speaking,  than  she  bowed  haughtily,  and  answered,  — 

"  Our  reconciliations  all  belong  to  the  Norman  family,  and 
are  quite  as  lasting  as  Lamourette's.  Ceaseless  war  is  preferable 
to  a  violated  truce,  and  since  I  have  not  swerved  from  my  pur 
pose,  I  shall  not  falter  in  its  enunciation.  If  I  live  it  shall  not 
be  my  fault  if  I  fail  to  go  upon  the  stage.  1  am  not  so  fasti 
dious  as  Dr.  Grey,  and  one  who  sprang  from  canaille  must  be 
pardoned  if  she  betrays  a  longing  for  the  'flesh-pots  of  Egypt.'  " 

She  would  have  given  her  right  lumd  tu  recall  her  words, — 
when,  a  moment  later,  she  met  the  gaze  of  profound  pity  and 
disappointment  with  which  Dr.  Grey's  eyes  dwelt  upon  her 
countenance,  hardened  now  by  its  expression  of  insolent  haughti 
ness  ;  but  he  allowed  her  no  opportunity  for  retraction,  even 
had  she  mastered  her  overweening  pride,  and  stooping  to 
whisper  a  brief  sentence  in  his  sister's  ear,  ho  took  a  medical 
book  from  the  table,  and  left  the  room. 

The  silence  that  ensued  seemed  interminable  to  Salome,  and 
at  last  she  turned,  bowed  her  head  in  Miss  Jane's  lap,  and 
muttered  through  set  teeth,  - — 

"  You  see  it  is  best  that  I  should  go.  Even  you  must  be 
weary  of  this  strife." 

The  old  lady's  trembling  hands  were  laid  lovingly  on  the  girl's 
hot  brow  and  scorched  cheeks. 

"  Not  half  so  weary  as  your  own  oppressed  heart.  My  dear 
child,  why  do  you  persist  in  tormenting  yourself  so  unmercifully? 
"Why  will  you  say  things  that  you  do  not  mean  ?  —  that  are  ab 
Bolute  libels  on.  your  actiial  feelings?  I  have  often  seen  and 
deplored  affectations  of  generosity  and  refinement,  but  you  are 
th'j  first  person  I  ever  met  who  delighted  in  a  pretence  of  mean 
ness,  which  her  genuine  nature  abhorred.  Salome,  1  have  tried 
to  provr  myself  a  mother  to  you  since  the  day  that  I  took  you 
under  m^  roof;  and  now,  when  I  am  passing  away  from  the 


236  UNTIL  DEATH   U8  DO  PART. 

world,  —  when  a  few  short  months  will  probably  end  my  feeble 
life,  I  think  you  owe  it  to  me  to  give  me  no  sorrow  that  voui 
hands  can  easily  ward  off.  Don't  leave  me.  When  I  aw  gone 
there  will  be  time  and  to  spare,  for  all  your  schemes.  Stay 
here,  and  let  me  have  peace  and  sunshine  about  me,  in  my  law* 
Siding  hours.  Ah,  dear,  you  can't  be  cruel  to  ;he  old  wornas 
who  lias  long  loved  you  so  tenderly." 

The  orphan  pressed  the  withered  hands  to  her  lips,  and, 
covering  her  face  with  the  folds  of  Miss  Jane's  black  silk 
apron,  exclaimed  passionately,  — 

"  Do  not  think  me  ungrateful,  —  do  not  think  me  insensible 
to  your  love  and  kindness ;  but,  indeed  I  am  very  miserable 
here.  Oh,  Miss  Jane !  if  you  knew  how  I  have  suffered,  you 
would  not  chide,  you  would  only  pity  and  sympathize  with 
me;  for  your  heart  will  never  steel  itself  against  your  poor 
wretched  Salome ! " 

She  lost  control  of  herself,  and  sobbed  violently. 

"  My  dear  little  girl,  tell  me  ;J1  your  sorrows.  To  whom  can 
you  reveal  your  trials  and  griefs,  if  not  to  me  ?  For  some 
weeks  past  I  have  observed  that  you  shunned  my  gaze,  and 
seemed  restless  when  I  endeavored  to  discover  how  you  were 
employing  your  time  •,  and  I  have  realized  that  you  were  sorely 
distressed,  but  I  disliked  to  force  your  confidence,  or  appear 
suspicious.  Now,  I  have  a  right  to  ask  what  makes  you  mise 
rable  in  my  house  ?  Is  the  little  girl  ashamed  to  show  me  her 
heart?" 

"  One  month  since,  I  woxild  have  gone  to  the  stake  rather 
than  have  shown  it  to  you,  or  have  had  any  one  dream  of  th? 
•wretchedness  locked  in  its  chambers ;  ].\it  a  week  ago  I  was 
overwhelmed  with  humiliation,  and  now  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
tell  you.  Now  that  Dr.  Grey  knows  it,  I  would  not  care  if  th« 
» hole  world  were  hissing  and  jeering  at  my  heels,  and  shoutirg 
tuy  shame  with  a  thousand  trumpets.  I  tried  to  keep  it  froaa 
him,  and  failing,  the  world  is  welcome  to  roll  it  as  a  s\*eet 
morsel  under  its  busy,  swinging,  slanderous  tongue.  Miss  Jane. 
I  have  intended  to  be  sincere  in  every  respect,  but  it  appears 
that,  after  all,  I  have  probably  been  an  arrant  hypocrite  if  you 


UNTIL  DLATII  US  DO  PART.  237 

,  I  dislike  your  brother.  I  want  to  go  away,  becauw 
.,jjiger  endure  to  livo  in.  the  same  hcuse  with  Dr.  Grev^ 
who  shows  me  move  plainly  every  hour  that  he  can  never  re 
turn  the  affection  I  have  been  idiotic  and  presumptuous  enough 
v  -  cherish  for  him.  There  !  I  have  said  it,  —  and  my  lips  ar? 
85  3t  blistered  by  the  unwomanly  confession,  and  you  still  per 
mit  my  head  to  rest  in  your  lap.  I  expected  you  would  be  in 
dignant  and  insulted,  and  gladly  send  such  a  lunatic  from  youi 
family  circle,  —  or  that  you  would  dismiss  me  coolly,  with  lofty 
contempt ;  but  only  a  woman  can  properly  pity  a  woman's  weak 
ness,  and  you  are  crying  over  me.  Ah  !  if  your  tears  were 
Calling  on  my  grave,  instead  of  my  face  !  " 

Miss  Jane  was  weeping  bitterly,  but  now  and  then  she  stooped 
and  kissed  the  quivering  lips  of  her  unhappy  charge,  who  found 
some  balm  in  the  earnest  sympathy  with  which  her  appeal  was 
received. 

"  My  precious  child,  why  should  you  be  ashamed  of  your 
love  for  the  noblest  man  who  ever  unconsciously  became  a 
woman's  idol  ?  1  do  not  much  wonder  at  your  feelings,  because 
you  have  seen  no  one  else  in  any  respect  comparable  to  him,  and 
it  is  difficult  for  you  to  realize  the  disparity  in  your  ages.  Poor 
thing  !  It  must  be  terrible,  indeed,  to  one  who  loves  liim  as  you 
do,  to  have  no  hope  of  possessing  his  affection  in  return.  But 
I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped,  — and  one  half  the  world  seem  to 
pour  out  their  love  on  the  wrong  persons,  and  find  misery  where 
they  should  have  only  joy  and  peace.  Thank  God,  all  this  mis 
chief  is  shut  out  of  heaven !  Dear,  don't  hide  your  face,  as 
if  you  had  stolen  half  of  my  sheep;  whereas  my  poor  innocent 
sailor-boy  has  unintentionally  stolen  my  little  girl's  heart." 

"  Miss  Jane,  you  are  too  good,  —  too  kind.  Do  not  help  me  to 
excuse  myself,  —  do  not  teach  me  to  palliate  my  pitiable  weakness. 
It  is  a  grievous,  a  shameful,  a  disgraceful  thing,  for  a  woman 
to  allow  herself  to  love  any  man  who  gives  her  no  evidence  of 
affection,  ind  shows  her  beyond  all  doubt  that  he  is  utterly 
indifferent  to  her.  This  is  a  sin  against  womanly  pride  anil 
delicacy  that  demands  sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  penance  and 
long  years  of  humiliation  and  self-abasement;  and  I  tell  you 


238  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

tliis  is  the  one  sin  which  iny  proud  soul  will  never  pardca  la 
my  poor,  weak,  despised  heart." 

"  If  you  feel  this  so  keenly,  you  will  soon  succeed  in  conquer 
ing  and  casting  out  of  your  heart  an  affection,  whiob,  having 
nothing  to  feed  upon,  will  speedily  exhaust  itself.  You  are 
young,  and  your  elastic  nature  will  rebound  from  the  pressure 
that  you  now  iind  so  painful.  My  dear,  a  few  months  or  years 
will  bring  comparative  oblivion  of  this  period  of  your  life." 

"  No ;  they  will  engrave  more  deeply  the  consciousness 
that  I  have  missed  my  sole  chance  of  earthly  happiness,  for 
Dr.  Grey  is  the  only  man  I  shall  ever  love,  —  is  the  only  maa 
who  can  lift  me  to  his  own  noble  height  of  excellence.  I  know 
it  is  customary  to  laugh  at  a  girl's  protestations  of  undying  de 
votion,  and  that  the  theory  of  feminine  constancy  is  as  entirely 
effete  as  the  worship  of  the  Cabiri,  or  the  belief  in  Blokula  and 
its  witches ;  but,  unfortunately,  the  world  lias  not  sneered  it 
entirely  out  of  existence,  and  I  am  destined  to  furnish  a  mourn 
ful  exemplification  of  its  reality.  Whether  my  nature  is  unlike 
that  of  the  majority  of  women,  I  shall  not  undertake  to  decide; 
but  this  I  know,  —  God  gave  me  only  so  much  love  to  spend, 
and  I  poured  it  all  out,  I  deluged  my  idol  with  it,  instead  of 
doling  it  carefully  through  the  future  years.  Like  the  woman  of 
Bethany,  I  have  broken  my  box  of  alabaster,  and  spilled  all  my 
precious  ointment,  which  might  have  served  for  a  lifetime  of  an 
ointing,  and  I  cannot  renew  the  shattered  receptacle,  nor  gather 
back  the  wasted  fragrance ;  and  so  my  heart  must  remain  with 
out  spikenard  or  balm  during  its  earthly  sojourn.  I  have  been 
prodigal,  —  have  beggared  my  womanly  nature,  —  and  henceforth 
bhall  feast  on  husks.  But  this  piece  of  folly  can  be  laid  on  no 
shoulders  but  my  own,  and  I  must  not  wince  if  they  are  galled 
by  burdens  which  only  I  have  imposed.  Some  women,  under 
similar  circumstances,  console  themselves  by  fostering  a  teller 
and  excessive  gratitude,  which  they  pet  and  fondle  and  call 
second  love;  but  the  feeling  belongs  to  a  different  species,  and 
is  to  strong,  earnest,  genuine  love,  <vhat  the  stunted  pines  of 
second  growth  are  to  the  noble,  stalwart,  umpproacr  able  oaks, 
that  spring  from  the  primitive  virgin  soil." 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  239 

Miss  Jane  lifted  the  bowed  face,  and  rested  the  head  against 
her  bosom. 

"If  you  are  so  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  impossibility  of 
mastering  thia  iffection,  why  talk  of  going  away  ?  You  will  ba 
happier  here,  under  any  circumstances,  than  among  strangers." 

"  Do  not  misapprehend  me.  I  do  not  intend  to  cherish  my 
•weakness,  —  to  caress  and  pamper  it.  I  mean  to  strangle,  and 
mangle,  and  bury  it,  if  possible.  I  meant,  not  that  I  should 
always  love  Dr.  Grey,  but  that  I  should  never  be  able  to  regard 
any  one  else  as  I  once  loved  him.  I  can  not  stay  here,  seeing 
him  daily  trample  my  alabaster  and  ointment  under  his  feet, 
I  can  not  endure  the  humiliation  that  has  for  some  days  past 
made  this  house  more,  intolerable  than  I  may  one  day  find 
Phlegetlion.  T  want  to  go  into  the  whirl  and  dm  of  life,  where 
my  thoughts  can  dwell  on  some  more  comforting  theme  than 
the  peerless  preeminence  of  the  man  who  is  master  here-, 
where  I  can  spend  hours  in  elaborating  toilettes  and  coiffures 
that  will  show  to  the  greatest  advantage  my  small  stock  of  per 
sonal  charms ;  where  the  admiration  and  love  of  other  men  will 
at  least  amuse  and  soothe  the  heart  that  has  no  more  love  for 
anybody,  or  anything.  Miss  Jane,  if  1  had  never  become  so 
deeply  attached  to  Dr.  Grey,  it  might  perhaps  be  unsafe  for  me 
to  venture  into  the  career  which  new  lies  before  me;  but  when 
a  woman's  heart  is  cold  and  dead  in  her  bosom,  there  is  no  peril 
she  need  fear  '  for  only  her  warm,  pleading  heart,  can  ever  silence 
the  iron  clang  of  conscience  and  the  silvery  accents  of  reason. 
Worshipping  some  clay  god,  my  loving,  yearning  heart,  might 
possibly  have  led  me  astray ;  but  now,  pride  and  ambition  stand 
as  sentinels  over  its  corpse,  and  a  he-artless  woman,  desirous 
only  of  amassing  a  fortune  and  making  herself  a  celebrity  in 
musical  circles,  is  as  safe  from  harm  as  the  bones  of  her  grand 
mother,  twenty  years  buried. 

The  agony  that  convulsed  the  orphan's  features,  and  shiveroa 
the  smoothness  of  her  usually  sweet  voice,  touched  the  old  ladyV 
sympathy,  and  she  wept  silently ;  straining  her  imagination  foi 
some  argument  that  would  make  an  impression  ou  tlr.)  adaman 
will  with  (vhich  sho  found  her  own  in  conflict. 


240  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"My  child,  tell  me  Aow  long  you  have  had  this  trouble, 
\\1ien  did  you  first  feel  an  interest  in  Ulpian  ?  " 

Unhesitatingly  Salome  related  all  that  had  occurred  in  her 
intercourse  with  Dr.  Grey,  and  her  companion  was  surprised  at 
tho  frankness  and  mercilessness  with  which  she  analyzed  her 
feelings  at  each  stage  of  the  acquaintance  that  proved  so 
her  peace  of  mind ;  and  not  only  held  her  weaknes,* 
*p  f  >r  scorn,  but  exonerated  Dr.  Grey  from  all  censure. 

The  mmuteness  of  the  confession  was  exceedingly  painful ;  and. 
s,t  iix  conclusion,  she  pressed  her  palms  to  her  cheeks,  and 
moaned,  — 

"Iliere,  Miss  Jane,  1  have  not  winced;  I  have  kept  back 
iothmg.  1  have  Ix'en  as  patient  and  inexorable  in  laying  open 
uiy  nature,  in  treating  you  to  a  post-mortem  examination  of  my 
heart,  as  a  dentist  in  scraping  ami  chiselling  a  sensitive  tooth, 
or  a  surgeon  in  cutting  out  a  cancer  that  baflled  cauterization. 
Now  you  kiiow  all  that  1  can  tell  you,  and  I  here  lay  the  past 
in  a  sepulchre,  and  roll  the  stone  iipon  it,  and  henceforth  1  trust 
you  will  respect  the  dead ;  at  least,  let  silence  rest  upon  its 
ashes.  Hit  jacet  cor  cordium" 

Salome  extricated  herself  from  the  arms  of  her  best  friend, 
and  smoothed  the  hair  that  constant  strokes  had  somewhat 
disordered. 

"  Salome,  1  can  not  live  much  longer.'1 

"  I  know  that,  dear  Miss  Jane,  and  it  pains  me  even  to  think 
of  leaving  the  only  person  whoever  really  loved  me." 

"  For  my  sake,  dear  cnild,  bear  the  trial  of  remaining  hero  » 
little  longer ;  at  least,  until  I  die.  Do  not  desert  me  in  my  last 
Hours.  1  do  not  want  the  hands  of  strangers  about  me,  when 
\  am  cold  and  stiff." 

Salome  rose  and  walked  several  times  up  and  down  the  room  ; 
then  paused  beside  the  easy  chair,  and  laid  her  clasped  Wads  in 
Miss  JaneX 

"  Ycu  alone  have  a  right  to  control  m^.  Do  ^-it-h  I,:.  .*&  you 
think  best.  **  I  will  not  forsake  the  true,  vender  friend,  who  has 
done  more  for  me  than  all  else  on  earth,  or  in  heaven.  For  the 
present  1  remain  here ;  but  allow  me  to  say  that  I  do  not  abttn- 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  241 

dor.  my  scheme.     I  relinquish  none  of  its  details,  —  I  only  ,>i Je 
rny  time." 

"  '  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.'  Thank  you, 
my  precious  little  girl,  for  yielding  to  my  wishes  when  they 
conflict  with  yours.  Some  day  you  will  rejoice  that  you  mail- 
what  seemed  a  sacrifice  of  inclination  on  the  altar  of  dnfv 
Now,  listen  to  me.  Ulpiau  is  so  enraptured  -with  your  voice, 
that,  while  he  will  never  consent  to  this  stage-struck  mad 
ness,  he  is  exceedingly  anxious  that  you  should  enjoy  every  mu 
sical  advantage,  and  is  curious  to  ascertain  to  what  degree  of 
perfection  your  voice  can  be  trained.  After  consulting  me,  he 
wrote  two  days  ago  to  a  celebrated  professor  of  music  in  Phila 
delphia  or  New  York  (I  really  forget  where  the  man  is  now 
residing),  and  offered  him  a  handsome  salary  if  ho  would  come 
and  teach  you  for  at  least  six  months,  or  as  much  longer  as  he 
deems  requisite.  I  believe  the  gentleman  is  delicate  and  threat 
ened  with  consumption,  "which  obliges  him  to  spend  the  winters 
in  a  warm  climate,  and  Ulpian  first  met  him  in  Italy.  My  boy 
thinks  that  the  opinion  of  this  Professor  Von  Somebody  is 
oracular  in  musical  matters ;  and,  as  he  has  trained  some  of  the 
best  singers  in  Europe,  Ulpian  wishes  him  to  have  charge  of 
your  voice.  Say  nothing  about  it  until  we  hear  whether  he 
can  accept  our  offer.  Kiss  me." 

Salome's  face  crimsoned,  and  she  said,  hesitatingly, — 
"  Miss  Jane,  I  can  not  consent  that  Dr.  Grey  should  con 
tribute  one  cent  toward  ray  musical  txiition.  I  can  humbly  and 
gratefully  accept  your  Charitable  aid,  but  net  his.  You  love 
me,  and  therefore  your  bounty  is  not  oppressive  or  humiliating, 
but  he  only  pities  and  tolerates  me,  and  I  would  starve  in  some- 
gutter  rather  than  live  as  the  recipient  of  his  charity.  ]f  you 
can  conveniently  spare  the  money  necessary  to  give  rue  addition.-)! 
cultivation,  I  shall  thankfully  receive  it,  for  Darilli  has  taught 
•flifc  all  of  which  he  is  master,  and  there  is  no  one  elsf  in  town 
in  whom  I  V-ave  more  confidence.  Tt  was  my  desire  and  dei-er- 
niination  tb^.t  the  work  of  my  hands  should  pay  for  polishing 
my  voice,  but  embroidery-fees  would  not  suffice  to  defray  the 
expenses  of  the  professor  l.o  whom  you  allude;  and,  if  Dr.  Groy 
21 


242  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

pays  for  Ms  services,  I  must  in  advance  assure  yoa  ai;.d  him 
that  I  shall  decline  them,  and  rely  upon  BariTi  and  niyaeif." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  I  It  is  poor  philosophy  to  quarrel  with  yon? 
bread  and  butter,  no  matter  who  happens  to  hand  it  to  you, 
Don't  be  so  savage  on  Ulpian,  who  really  cares  more  for  jor 
than  you  deserve.  But  if  it  comforts  your  proud,  lierce  spirit 
you  are  welcome  to  knew  that  I  —  Jane  Grey  —  pay  Profe,7/so; 
VTon  —  whatever  his  name  may  be  ;  and  Ulpian's  Docket,  about 
which  you  seem  so  fastidious,  will  not  be  damaged  one  iollar 
by  the  transaction.  Are  you  satisfied,  —  you  pretty  piece  of 
beggarly  pride  ?  " 

"  I  am  more  grateful  to  you,  dear  Miss  Jaiie,  than  I  shall  ever 
be  able  to  express.  God  only  knows  what  would  have  become 
of  me  if  you  had  not  mercifully  snatched  me,  soul  and  body, 
from  the  pui'lieus  of  ruin." 

She  stooped  to  receive  the  fond  kiss  of  her  benefactress,  and 
went  into  her  own  room. 

Nearly  an  hour  later  she  slowly  descended  the  stairs,  and  took 
her  hat  from  the  stand  in  the.  hall.  As  she  adjusted  it  011  her 
head,  and  tied  the  ribbons  behind  her  knot  of  hair,  Mr.  Gran 
ville  came  out  of  the  parlor  and  seixed  her  hand. 

"  Why  will  you  torment  me  so  cruelly?  I  have  been  waiting 
and  watching  for  you,  at  least  half  an  hour." 

She  haughtily  took  her  fingers  from  his,  and  indignantly  drew 
herself  up,  — 

"  Mr.  Granville  presumes  on  liis  position  as  guest,  to  intrude 
upon  some  who  do  not  desire  his  society.  I  was  not  aware,  sii^ 
that  I  had  any  engagement  with  you." 

"  Forgive  me,  Salome  !  How  have  I  offended  you  ?  If  you 
oould  realize  how  much  pleasure  your  presence  affords  me,  you 
would  not  punish  me  by  absenting  yourself  as  you  have  persis 
tently  done  for  three  days  past." 

He  bent  his  handsome  face  closer  to  hers,  looking  appealingly 
into  her  beautiful  flashing  eyes ;  but  she  put  up  her  har  Is  to 
push  him  aside,  and  answered, — 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  entertain  you  in  the  evenings,  when  the 
remainder  of  the  household  assemble  in  the  parlor;  and  will. 


UNTIL  LEATH  US  DO  PART.  2t3 

witJi  great  pieaaure,  sing  for  you  win-never  Miss  Muriel  will 
kindly  oblige  me  by  playing  my  accompaniments ;  but  I  prefei 
ix>  confine  our  acquaintance  to  such  occasions." 

"  Will  you  not  allow  UK  the  privilege  of  accompanying  yovr 
bi  the  walk  for  which  you  seem  prepared  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  I  respectfully  decline  your  attendance," 

She  saw  Lis  cheek  flush,  and  he  said,  hastily, — 

"  Salome,  1  shall  begin  to  hope  that  you  fear  to  trust  you* 
.vwn  heart." 

"  Do  not  forget  yourself,  sir.  If  you  knew  where  my  heart 
is  housed,  you  would  spare  yourself  the  fruitless  trouble,  and 
me  the  annoyance,  of  attentions  and  expressions  of  admira 
tion  which  J  avail  myself  of  this  opportunity  to  assure  you 
are  particularly  disagreeable  to  me.  I  wish  to  treat  you  courte 
ously,  as  the  guest  of  those  under  whose  roof  I  am  permitted  to 
reside,  but  '  thus  far,  and  no  farther,'  must  you  venture. 
Moreover,  Mr.  Granville,  since  we  are  merely  comparative 
strangers,  I  should  be  gratified  if  you  will  in  future  do  me  the 
honor  to  recollect  that  it  is  one  of  my  peculiarities,  —  one  of  my 
idiosyncrasies,  —  to  prefer  that  only  those  I  respect  and  love 
uhould  call  me  Salome.  Good  afternoon,  sir." 

She  took  her  music-book,  bowed  coolly,  and  made  her  exit 
through  the  front  door,  which  she  closed  after  her. 

In  the  hammock  that  was  suspended  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  piazza,  Dr.  Grey  had  thrown  himself  to  rest;  and  meanwhile, 
to  search  for  some  surgical  operation  recorded  in  one  of  hia 
bocks. 

Just  behind  him  a  window  opened  from  the  I. all,  and  to-day, 
'vhough  a  rose-colored  shade  was  lowered,  the  sash  had  been 
raised,  and  ever*  word  that  was  uttered  in  the  passage  floated 
distinctly  to  him 

The  whole  conversation  occurred  so  rapidly  that  he  h<id  no 
opportunity  of  discovering  his  presence  to  the  persons  within, 
and  though  he  cleared  his  throat  and  coughed  rather  spasmodi 
cally,  his  warning  was  unheeded  by  those  for  whom  it  wafi 
intended. 

He  knew  that  Salome  could  not  possibly  rave  guessed  Ida 


244  UNTIL  LEATH  US  DO  PART. 

proximity,  as  he  was  not  accustomed  to  use  this  hammock,  aro 
was  completely  siiielded  from  observation ;  and,  while  painr-o 
and  surprised  by  Mr.  Grariville's  dishonorable  course,  which 
threatened  life-long  wretchedness  for  poor  Muriel,  Dr.  Grey's 
h<»art  throbbed  with  joy  at  the  assurunce  that  Salome  was  not 
*O  ungenerous  as  he  had  feared.  Probably  no  other  lmma» 
toeing  "would  have  so  highly  appreciated  her  conduct  on  this 
flccasion ;  and,  as  he  mused,  with  his  thumb  and  fore-finger  thrust 
between  the  leaves  of  the  book,  a  glad  smile  broke  over  hia 
grave  face. 

"  God  bless  the  girl !  Her  prayers  and  mine  have  not  been 
in  vain,  and  she  is  putting  under  her  feet  the  baser  impulses 
^hat  mar  her  character.  Granville  is  considered  by  the  world 
exceedingly  handsome  and  agreeable,  and  many,  — yes,  the 
majority  of  women,  would  have  yielded,  and  indulged  in  a 
'  harmless  flirtation,'  where  Salome  stood  nrin.  There  was 
something  akin  to  the  scornful  ring  of  Rachel's  voice  in  that 
child's  tones,  when  she  told  Gerard  he  presumed  on  his  position 
as  guest ;  and  I  will  wager  iny  hand  that  her  large  eyes  did 
not  exactly  resemble  a  dove's  when  she  informed  him  it  was 
not  his  privilege  to  call  her  Salome.  She  has  a  tierce,  imperious, 
passionate  temper,  that  goads  her  into  mischief;  but,  after  all, 
she  is  —  she  must  be  —  nobler  than  I  have  sometimes  thought 
her.  God  grant  it !  God  bless  her !  " 

1 '  But  blame  us  women  not,  —  if  some  appear 

Too  cold  at  times ;  and  some  too  gay  and  light. 
Some  grief  a  graw  deep.     Some  woes  are  hard  to  bear. 
Who  knows  the  Past  ?    And  who  can  julge  us  rigiit  P  " 


UNTIL   DEATH    r.S   />()    P.IA'7'. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

GREY,  are  yon  awake?      Dr.  Oroy,  Kore  is 
a  note  from  '  Solitude,'  and  tho  messenger  begp  tL»«' 

• 

you  will  lose  no  time,  as  one  of  the  »eryunta  it 
supposed  to  be  dying." 

Salome  had  knocked  twice  at  Dr.  Grey's  door,  without  uron'j- 
vng  him,  and  the  third  time  she  beat  a  tattoo  that  would  have 
broken  even  heavier  slumbers  than  his. 

"  I  am  awake,  and  will  strike  a  light  in  a  moment." 

She  heard  him  stumbling  about  the  room,  and  ihially  ther»f 
was  a  crash,  as  of  a  broken  vase  or  goblet. 

"What  is  the  matter'.-'      Can't  you  liitd  your  matches?" 

"Mo;  some  one  has  removed  tin;  box  iVorn  its  usua.1  place, 
and  F  am  fumbling  about  at  random,  and  smashing  tilings 
indiscriminately  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  bring  me  a  match  ?  " 

"  L  have  a  candle  in  niy  hand,  which  you  can  take,  while  I 
order  Elbert  to  get  your  buggy  ready." 

"  Thank  you,  Salome." 

She  placed  the  candle  on  the  mat  before  his  door,  laid  the 
note  beside  it,  and  went  down  to  the  servants'  rooms  to  call 
the  driver. 

It  was  two  o'clock,  and  Dr.  Grey  had  come  home  only  aa 
hour  before,  from  a  patient  who  resided  at  some  distance. 

Dressing  himself  as  expeditiously  as  possible,  he  read  the 
blurred  and  crumpled  note. 

"Dr.  Grey:  For  God's  sake  come  as  quick  a,s  possiW^, 
I  am  afraid  my  mother  is  dying. 

"  ROBERT  MACLEAN.'"' 

Three  days  before,  "when  he  visited  Elsie,  he  found  ner  mow 
composer!  and  comfortable  than  she  had  been  for  several  wpek.-i 
•iiid  Mrs.  Gerome  had  seemed  almost  cheerful,  as  she  sat  Desidf 
t.Uo  Ixjd,  crimping  the  borders  of  the  invalid's  muslin  capr« 
•-'h«ch  tne  laundress  had  sent  in,  stiiF  and  spotless. 

541* 


246  UNTIL  DSATH  US  DO  PART. 

Recollecting  Elsie's  desire  to  confide  something  to  him  before 
Ler  death,  and  dreading  the  effeo*  which  this  sudden  termination 
of  her  life  might  have  upon  her  mistress,  in  whom  he  was 
uaily  becoming  more  deeply  interested,  Dr.  Grey  hurried  down 
stairs  and  met  the  orphan. 

"Elbert  is  not  quite  ready,  but  will  be  at  the  door^lirectly 
J  told  him  the  case  was  urgent.'1 

"You  are  very  considerate,  Salome,  and  I  am  much  obliged 
for  yc  ir  thoughtfulness ;  though  I  regret  that  the  messenger 
waked  you,  instead  of  Rachel  or  me.  I  have  never  before  known 
Rachel  fail  to  hear  the  bell,  and  1  was  so  weary  that  I  think  a 
ten-inch  columbiad  would  scarcely  have  aroused  me." 

"  I  was  not  asleep,  —  was  sitting  at  my  window ;  and  hearing 
some  one  slam  the  gate  and  gallop  up  the  avenue,  I  went  to 
the  door  and  opened  it,  to  prevent  the  ringing  of  the  bell  and 
waking  of  the  entire  household." 

"You  should  have  been  asleep  four  hours  ago,  and  I  had  no 
idea  you  werf*  still  up,  when  I  came  home.  There  was  no  light 
in  your  room.  Are  you  quite  well  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  quite  well." 

She  was  dressed  as  he  had  seen  her  at  dinner,  and  now,  as  she 
stood  resting  one  hand  on  the  balustrade  of  the  stairway,  he 
thought  she  looked  paler  and  more  weary  than  ne  had  ever 
observed  her. 

The  scarlet  spray  of  pela?  *onium  had  withered  from  the  heat 
of  her  head,  where  it  had  rested  all  the  evening,  and  the  large 
creamy  Grand  Duke  jasmine  fastened  at  her  throat  by  a  sprig 
of  coral,  was  drooping  and  fading,  but  still  exhaled  its  strong 
delicious  perfume. 

"  Your  appearance  contradicts  your  assertion.  Is  your  wake- 
#;ilne»J3  attributable  to  any  anxiety  or  trouble  which  I  caa 
*'«iao  ve  ?  " 

*'  No,  sir.  I  hear  Elbert  opening  the  gate.  Who  is  sick  a' 
'Solitude'?" 

"The  servant  who  TV  as  so  severely  injured  many  months  ago, 
by  a  fall  from  a  carriage,  has  grown  suddenly  worse." 

Salome  accompanied  him  to  the  front  door,  in  order  to  lock  it 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  1'^RT.  24? 

After  hi;;  departure;  and,  as  ho  descended  the  steps,  ho   I:  imed 
r.iiu  mud,  in  a  subdued  voice,— 

l'~  You  have  probably  heard  that  Mrs.  Geronv1  is  a  very 
p>?ou!;.;<i, —  indeed,  a  decidedly  eccentric  person?" 

"  Y"f;s,  sir ;  it  is  reported  that  she  is  almost  a  lunatic." 

te  Which  is  totally  false.  She  is  very  sensitive,  and  shrink 
from  strangers,  and  consequently  has  no  friends  here.  Ti  * 
should  find  Elsie  dying,  or  if  I  need  you,  I  wish  you  to  con;* 
promptly.  It  may  be  necessary  to  have  some  one  beside  the 
household,  and  you  are  the  only  person  I  can  trust.  Try  to  go 
to  sleep  immediately,  for  I  may  send  for  you  very  early  in  the 
morning." 

"  I  shall  be  ready  to  come  when  I  am  needed." 

The  buggy  rolled  up  to  the  steps,  and  Dr.  Grey  sprang  into  it 
and  drove  swiftly  down  the  avenue. 

Salome  crept  softly  back  up  stairs,  but  Miss  Jane  called 
out,  — 

"  Who  is  there,  in  the  hall  ?     "What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

The  girl  opened  the  door,  and  put  her  head  inside. 

"  .Dr.  Grey  has  been  called  to  see  a  sick  woman  at  '  Solitude,' 
and  1  have  just  locked  the  door  after  him." 

"Why  could  not  .Rachel  do  that,  and  save  you  from  coining 
lown  stairs  ?  What  time  of  night  is  it  ?  " 

"  About  half-past  two.      Rachel  is  asleep.     Good-night." 

"  '  Solitude,'  did  you  say  V  " 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  Well,  if  people  will  persist  in  burrowing  in  that  unlucky 
den.  they  must  take  the  consequences.  Ulpian,  poor  fellowj 
•xi\\  be  completely  worn  out.  Good-night,  dear  ;  don't  got  up 
to  breakfast,  if  you  feel  sleepy." 

Salome  went  to  her  own  room,  changed  her  dress,  laid  glovss 
hat,  and  shawl  in  readiness  upon  the  bed,  and  threw  herself  dow*. 
on  the  lounge  to  rest,  and  if  possible  to  sleep. 

When  Dr.  Grey  reached  "  Solitude,"  he  found  Robert  Macleatt 
pacing  the  paved  walk  that  led  to  the  gate. 

"  Oh,  doctor  !  Have  you  come  at  last?  It  seems  to  me  I  couW 
h»ve  crawled  twice  to  your  house,  since  Jerry  came  back." 


248  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAET. 

"  What  change  has  taken  place  in  your  mother's  condition  ?  She 
was  better  than  usual,  when  I  saw  her  last." 

"We  thought  sho  was  getting  along  very  well,  till  all  of 
a  sudden  she  became  speechless.  Go  in,  sir  ;  don't  stop  to 
knock." 

Mrs.  (Jerome  sat  at  the  bedside,  mechanically  chafing  one  o/ 
the  hands  that  lay  on  the  coverlid,  and  the  face  of  the  dyinf, 
woman  was  not  more  ghastly  than  the  one  wliich  bent  over  h*. ::. 
AJS  Dr.  Grey  approached,  the  mistress  of  the  house  rose,  and  put 
out  her  hands  towards  him,  with  a  wistful,  pleading,  chilolLsli 
manner,  that  touched  him  inexpressibly. 

"  Do  not  let  her  die." 

He  leaned  over  the  pillow,  and  put  his  finger  on  the  scareeiy 
palpable  pulse. 

"  Elsie,  tell  me  where  or  how  you  suffer." 

A  ray  of  recognition  leaped  up  in  her  sunken  eyes,  and  she 
looked  at  him  with  a  yearning,  imploring  expression,  that  was 
pitiable  and  distressing  indeed. 

He  saw  that  she  was  struggling  to  articulate,  but  failing  in 
the  effort,  a  groan  escaped  her,  and  tears  gathered  and  trickled 
down  her  pinched  face.  He  smoothed  her  contracted  forehead, 
and  said,  soothingly,  — 

"  Elsie,  you  feel  that  I  will  do  all  that  I  can  to  relieve  you. 
You  can  not  talk  to  me,  but  you  know  me '?  " 

She  inclined  her  head  slightly,  and  in  examining  her  he  dis 
covered  that  only  one  side  was  completely  paralyzed,  and  that 
she  could  still  partially  control  her  left  arm.  When  he  had 
done  all  that  medical  skill  could  suggest,  he  stood  at  her  side, 
and  she  suddenly  grasped  his  fingers. 

He  put  his  face  close  to  hei's,  and  observing  her  tears  Kiosk 
jftfrftah,  whispered, — 

u  You  wish  to  tell  me  something  before  you  die  ?  " 
A  gurgling  sound,  and  a  faint  motion  of  her  lips  was  the  only 
reply  of  which  she  was  capable. 

He  placed  a  pencil  between  her  fingers,  but  she  could  not  use 
it  intelligibly,  and  he  noticed  that  her  eyes  moved  from  his  to 


UNTIL  DEATH  V8  DO  PART.  249 

ihose  of  her  mistress,  as  if  to  indicate  that  she  was  the  suoject 
of  the  desired  conversation. 

It  was  distressing  to  witness  her  efforts  to  communicate  hei 
wishes,  while  the  tears  dripped  on  her  pillow ;  and  unable  to 
endure  the  sight  of  her  anguish,  Mrs.  Gerome  sank  on  her  knes* 
*  nd  hid  her  face  in  the  coverlid. 

Dr  Giey  gently  lifted  Elsie's  arm  and  placed  her  hand  on  tha 
head  of  her  mistress,  and  the  expi-ession  of  her  face  assxired  him 
as  had  correctly  interpreted  her  feelings.  Something  still  di» 
turbed  her,  and  he  suggested,  — 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  put  your  hand  in  hers." 

She  silently  obeyed  him,  and  then  the  old  woman's  eyes 
looked  once  more  intently  into  his.  lie  coiild  not  conjecture 
her  meaning,  until,  in  feeling  her  pulse,  he  found  that  she  was 
crying  to  touch  his  fingers  with  hers. 

He  slipped  his  own  into  iho  p:\lm  wise  re  Mrs.  Gerome's  lay, 
^nd,  by  a,  last  great  r!i'nr!-,  >li<>  presser!  (V'::i  f.v.!>]y  together. 

Even  then,  the  touch  of  those  white,  soft  fingers,  thrilled  his 
j'teart  as  no  other  hand  liad  over  done,  and  he  said, — 

"  Elsie,  you  mean  th;:t  you  leave  her  in  my  care?  That  you 
put  her  in  my  hands  ?  That  you  trust  her  to  me  ?  " 

It  ~va,s  impossible  to  mistake  the  satisfied  expression  that 
Hashed  over  her  countenance. 

"  I  accept  the  trust.  IClsio,  J  promise  you  that  while  I.  live 
she  shall  never  want  a  true  and  faithful  friend.  I.  will  try  to 
take  care  of  her  body,  and  pray  for  her  soul.  I  will  do  all  that 
yo"  would  have  done." 

Once  more,  but  /cry  faintly,  she  pressed  the  two  hands  she 
!>ad  clasped,  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  doctor,  can't  you  save  her?  "  sobbed  llobert. 

In  the  solemn  silence  that  ensued,  Mrs.  Gerome  lifted  her  face} 
sad  Dr.  Grey  never  forgot  the  wild,  imploring  gaze,  that  met 
his  lie  understood  its  import,  and  ««iook  his  head.  She  ro»> 
instantly,  moved  away  from  the  bed,  and  left  tlui  room. 

For  nearly  an  hour  Dr.  Grey  huug  over  the  pros-trite  form, 
which  lay  with  closed  eyes,  and  gradually  sunk  into  the  heaw 
'«thargic  sleep,  from  which  he  knew  she  ':ould  nr.vyr  awako. 


250  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

Leavir-g  her  to  the  care  of  Robert  and  two  female  servant«| 
he  went  in  search  of  the  mistress  of  the  silent  anl  drear? 
housa. 

Taking  a  lamp  from  the  escritoire  in  the  back  parlor,  he  wen4 
from  room  to  room,  finding  nowhere  the  object  he  sought,  and 
fit  length  became  alarmed.  As  he  stood  in  the  front  door,  per 
plexed  and  anxious,  the  thought  presented  itself  that  she  might 
have  gone  down  to  the  beach.  He  went  back  to  the  apartment 
occupied  by  the  dying  woman,  —  felt  once  more  the  sinking 
pulse,  and  took  a  last  look  at  the  altered  and  almost  rigid  face. 

"  llobert,  I  can  do  her  no  good.  Her  soul  will  very  soon  be 
with  her  God." 

"  Oh,  sir,  don't  leave  her !  Don't  give  her  up,  wliile  there  ia 
life  in  her  body  !  "  cried  the  son,  grasping  the  doctor's  sleeve. 

Dr.  Grey  put  his  hand  on  the  Scotchman's  shoulder,  and 
whispered,  — 

"  I  am  going  to  hunt  for  Mrs.  Gerome.  She  is  not  in  the 
hoxise.  I  may  be  able  to  render  her  some  service,  but  your 
mother  is  beyond  all  human  aid." 

"  Is  there  any  pulse  ?  " 

"  It  is  so  feeble  no^,  I  can  scarcely  count  it." 

"  Please,  doctor,  stay  here  by  her  while  she  breathes.  Don't 
desert  the  dear  soul.  My  poor  mother !  " 

llobert  lost  all  control  of  himself,  and  wept  like  a  child. 

Loth  to  forsake  him  in  this  hour  of  direst  trial,  Dr.  Grey 
leaned  against  the  bed,  and  for  some  moments  watched  the 
irregular  convulsive  heaving  of  the  woman's  chest. 

"Oh,  sir,  if  my  mistress  hadn't  a  heart  of  stone,  she  would 
h.'we  let  her  die  peacefully.  She  might  at  least  have  granted 
bcr  dying  prayer." 

"What  was  it?" 

*'  All  of  yesterday  afternoon  she  pleaded  with  her  to  be 
baptized.  My  mother  —  God  bless  her  dear  soul! — my  mothei 
told  her  that  she  could  not  consent  to  die  until  she  saw  her 
baptized ;  and,  with  the  tears  pouring  down  her  poor  face,  she 
begged  and  prayed  that  I  might  fetch  the  minister  from  town, 
and  that  she  might  see  the  ceremony  performed.  But  mj  mi» 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  251 

tiess  walkftd  \\\>  and  down  the  floor,  and  said,  'Never!  never 
I  have  done  with  mockeries.  I  liave  washed  my  hands  of  al] 
that,  —  long,  long  ago.'  And  now  —  it  is  too  late;  and  my 
poor  mother  can  never  —  God  be  merciful  to  vis !  is  it  all 
over  ?  " 

Dr.  Grey  raised  the  head,  but  the  breathing  was  imperceptible 
and,  after  a  little  while,  he  softly  pressed  down  the  lids  that  wert 
partially  lifted  from  the  glazed  eyes,  and  quitted  the  rooir. 

His  buggy  stood  at  the  rear  gate,  and  the  driver  was  aslcep; 
but  his  master's  voice  aroused  him. 

"  Elbert,  go  home,  and  ask  Miss  Salome  please  to  come  over 
as  soon  as  you  can  drive  her  here." 

The  east  was  purple  and  gold,  the  sea  a  purling  mass  of  molten 
amber,  and  only  two  stars  were  visible  low  in  the  west,  where  a 
waning  moon  swung  on  the  edge  of  the  distant  misty  hills.  The 
air  was  chill,  and  a  silvery  hu/e  hung  above  the  moaning  waves, 
and  partially  veiled  the  windings  of  the  beach.  Under  the 
trees  Unit  clustered  so  closelv  around  the  house,  the  gloom  of 
night  still  lingered  like  a  pal  I,  huf  as  !>r.  Grey  approached  the 
terrace,  he.  te.lt  the  pure  fresh  presence,  of'  the  new  day.  Up  and 
down  the  sands  his  eyes  wandered,  hoping  to  discern  a  woman's 
tigure,  but  no  living  thing  was  visible,  except  the  flamingo  and 
yelk/w  pheasant  still  perched  where  they  had  spent  the  night, 
on  the;  stone  balustrade  that  bordered  the  terrace.  He  took 
oil"  his  hat  to  enjoy  the  crystalline  atmosphere,  and  while  he 
faced  the  brightening  east,  the  sharp  peculiar  bark  of  the  Aral) 
greyhound  broke  fche  solemn  silence  that  brooded  over  sea  and 
hind. 

The  sound  proceeded  from  the  boat-house,  and    he  haskT.ed 
towards   it,  startling  a  mimic  army  of  crabs  and   fiddlers   •. '.:;•' 
h;;d    n<>t    yt    ended    their   nightly  marauding.     The    tide   v  •.<.*• 
higher  than  usxial  at  this  early  hour,  and  the  waves  were  b^. ... 
sng  sullenly  against  the  stone  piers. 

As  !>r.  Grey  ascended  the  iron  steps  leading  to  the  pavil;;,r, . 
Hv:  ck>g  growled  arid  showed  his  teeth,  bur  <ue  visitor  si;..- 
•.•er-u'-d  in  partially  winning  him  overhand  now  passed  unmolested 
•r/<i  tho  circular  room.  A  cushioned  seuv  extended  around  tbf- 


252  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  P.LRT. 

wall,  where  windows  opened  at  the  four  points  of  the  compass ; 
and  on  the  round  table  in  the  centre  of  the  marble-tiled  floor 
lay  a  telescope. 

At  the  eastern  window  sat  Mrs.  Geroine,  with  her  head  rest 
ing  on  her  crossed  wins.  Although  Dr.  Grey's  steps  echoed 
heavily,  as  lis  trod  the  damp  mosaic  where  the  mist  had  con 
densed,  she  gave  no  evidence  of  having  discovered  his  presence 
until  he  stood  close  beside  her.  Then  she  raised  one  hanu,  with  a 
quick  gesture  of  caution  and  silence.  He  sat  down  near  her,  and 
watched  the  countenance  that  was  fully  exposed  to  his  scrutiny. 

No  tears  had  dimmed  the  wide,  mournful,  almost  despairing 
eyes,  that  gazed  with  strange  intentness  over  the  amber  sea,  at 
the  golden  radiance  that  heralded  the  coming  sun ;  and  every 
line  and  moulding  of  her  delicate  features  seemed  cold  and  rigid 
enough  for  a  cenotaph.  Even  the  lips  were  still  and  compressed, 
and  a  bluish  shadow  lay  about  their  dimpled  corners,  and  under 
the  heavy  jet  eyelashes.  Her  silver  comb  had  become  loosened, 
and  was  finally  dragged  down  by  the  coil  of  hair  that  slipped 
slowly  until  it  fell  upon  the  morocco  cushion  of  the  seat,  and 
the  glistening  waves  of  gray  hair  rolled  around  her  shoulders, 
and  rippled  low  on  her  brow.  Sea  fog  had  dampened  and  sea 
wind  tossed  this  mass  of  white  locks,  till  it  made  a  singular 
burnished  frame  for  the  wan  face  that  looked  out  hopeless  and 
painfully  quiet. 

Her  silk  robe  de  chambrc,  of  leaden  gray,  bordered  with  blue, 
was  unbuttoned  at  the  throat,  and  showed  its  faultless  curve  and 
contour ;  while  the  full,  open  sleeves,  blown  back  by  the  strong 
breeze,  bared  the  snowy  arms,  where  one  of  the  jet  serpents 
ihat  formed  her  bracelets,  pressed  so  heavily  on  the  white  flesh 
lliat  a  purple  band -was  visible  when  the  hand  was  raised  and 
die  bracelet  slipped  back. 

Watching  hot1  intently.  Dr.  Grey  could  not  detect  the  slightest 
'{uiver  of  nerve  or  muscle;  and  she  breathed  so  luw  and  softly 
that  In?  might  have  doubted  whether  she  was  really  conscious, 
if  he-  had  not  correctly  interpreted  the  strained  expression  of 
the  unwinking  gray  eye?  whose  pupils  contracted  as  the  sky 
tJu&hcd  and  kindled. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  2M 

On  the  floor  lay  a  dainty  handkerchief  mid  stooping  lo  pkli 
it,  \tp,  he  inhaled  the  delicate,  tenacious  perfume  of  tiJ>e-ross, 
which,  blended  with  orange-flowers,  he  had  frequently  discovered 
wbei.:  standing  near  her. 

Placing  it  within  reaca  of  her  fingers,  he  said,  very  gentlv  ?s.d 
'Kiore  tenderly  than  lie  was  aware  of,  — 

"  Mrs,  Gerome,  —  " 

"  Hush  !  I  know  what  you  have  come  to  tell  me.  I  kafrw 
It  when  I  came  away.  Let  me  alone,  now." 

She  raised  her  head,  and  turned  her  eyes  to  meet  his,  and  he 
shuddered  at  the  hard,  bitter  look,  that  came  swiftly  over  the 
blanched  features.  For  some?  seconds  they  gazed  full  at  each 
other,  and  Dr.  Grey's  eyes  filled  with  a  mist  that  made  hers 
seem  large  and  radiant  as  wintry  stars. 

He  knew  then  that  his  heart  was  no  longer  his  own,  —  thai 
this  wretched,  solitary  woman,  had  installed  herself  in  its  most 
sacred  penetralia;  that  she  had  not  suddenly,  but  gradually, 
become  the  dearest  object  that  earth  possessed. 

He  did  not  ask  himself  whether  she  filled  all  his  fastidious 
and  lofty  requirements,  —  whether  she  rose  full-statured  to  his 
noble  standard,  —  whether  reverence,  perfect  confidence,  and 
unqualified  admiration  would  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  mere 
affection.  He  neither  argued,  nor  trifled,  nor  deceived  himself, 
but  bravely  confessed  to  his  own  true  soul,  that,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  ho  loved  warmly  and  tenderly  the  only  woman 
whose  touch  had  power  to  stir  his  quiet,  steady  pulses. 

He  had  not  intended  to  surrender  his  affections  to  the  custody 
of  any  one  until  reason  and  judgment  had  analyzed,  weighed, 
and  cordially  endorsed  the  wisdom  of  his  choice ;  and  now, 
although  surprised  at  the  rashness  with  which  his  heart,  hitherto 
so  tractable  and  docile,  vehemently  declared  allegiance  to  a  new 
sovereign,  he  did  not  attempt  to  mask  or  varnish  the  truth. 
Thoroughly  comprehending  the  fact  that  it  was  neither  friend- 
sliip  nor  compassion,  he  gravely  looked  the  new  feeling  in  th* 
face,  and  acknowledged  it,  —  the  tyrant  which  sooner  or  later 
wields  the  sceptre  in  every  human  neart. 

Had  he  faithfully  kept  'iis  compact  with  himself,  and  folio  wed 
22 


254  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

the  iuj unction  of  Joubert,  "Choose  for  a  "wife  jnly  t&« 
woman,  -whom,  were  she  a  man,  you  would  choose  for  you? 
friend  "  ? 

Be"ause  he  found  a  fascination  in  her  society,  should  he  con 
cd?de  that  it  was  a  healthful  atmosphere  for  his  sturdy,  exactiug 
nnconipromising  nature? 

To-day  he  swept  aside  all  these  protests  and  questions,  post 
*»>riing  the  arraignment  of  his  heart  before  the  tribunal  'A 
slighted  and  indignant  reason,  arid  allowed  the  newly  mitreo 
pontiff  to  lead  him  whither  she  chose. 

Unconscious  of  the  emotions  that  brought  an  unusual  glow  to 
his  face  and  light  to  his  eyes,  Mrs.  Gerome  had  dropped  her 
head  once  more  on  her  arms,  and  the  weary,  despairing  expres 
sion  of  her  countenance,  as  she  looked  at  the  gilded  horizon, 
where  sea  and  sky  seemed  divided  only  by  a  belt  of  liquid  gold, 
—  might  hare  served  for  the  face  of  soiae  careless  Vestal,  who, 
having  allowed  the  fire  to  expire  on  the  altar  she  had  sworn  to 
guard  sleeplessly,  sat  hopeless,  desolate,  and  doomed,  —  watching 
from  the  dim,  cheerless  temple  of  Hestia,  the  advent  of  that  sun 
whose  rays  alone  could  rekindle  the  sacred  flame,  and  which,  ere 
its  setting,  would  witness  the  execution  of  her  punishment. 

Dr.  Grey  bent  over  her,  and  said,  — 

"  I  came  here  in  quest  of  you,  hoping  to  persuade  you  Jx> 
return  to  the  house." 

"No.  You  came  to  tell  me  that  Elsie  is  dead.  You  came  to 
break  the  news  as  gently  as  possible,  —  and  to  pity  and  try  tc 
comfort  me,  You  are  very  good,  I  dare  say ;  but  I  wish  to  b* 
alone." 

"  You  have  been  too  long  alone,  and  I  can  not  consent  to 
ie*ve  you  here." 

At  the  sound  of  his  subdued  voi^e,  she  turned  her  face  tc 
*  ar L<  him,  and,  for  a  moment,  — 

''  A  strange  slow  smile  grew  into  her  eyes, 

As  though  from  a  great  way  off  it  came 
And  was  weary  em  down  to  her  lips  it  flutter*^, 

And  turned  into  n.  sigh,  or  some  soft  name 
Whose  syllables  sounded  llkest  sighs 
Half -smothered  in  sorrow  before  they  were  uttered." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  I  ART.  255 

"  Dr.  Grey,  my  loneimess  transcends  all  parallels,  and  is  beycnd 
remedy.  V/hy  should  i  not  stay  here?  All  places  are  alike  to 
me,  now.  That  cold,  silent  corpse  at  the  house,  is  not  Elsie j 
and,  suice  she  has  been  taken,  I  shall  be  utterly  alone,  go 
where  I  may." 

She  shivered,  and  he  picked  itp  a  crape  shawl  lying  in  a  heap 
cader  the  table,  and  wrapped  it  around  her.  The  soft  fokk 
were  damp,  and,  as  he  lifted  the  veil  of  hair,  to  draw  the  sh.vvrl 
closer  about  her  shoulders  and  throat,  he  felt  that  it  was  moist: 
from  the  humid  atmosphere. 

"  Sir,  1  am  not  cold,  —  I  wish  I  were.  It  is  useless  tc 
wrap  up  my  body  so  warmly,  ami  leave  my  heart  shivering 
until  death  freezes  it  utterly." 

Dr.  Grey  took  her  beautiful  white  hands  in  his  warm  palms, 
and  held  them  firmly. 

"  Mrs.  Geroine,  you  do  not  know  what  is  best  for  you,  and 
must  be  guided  by  one  who  will  prove  himself  your  truest 
friend." 

"  Don't  mock  my  misery  !  J!  never  had  but  one  friend,  and 
henceforth  must  live  friendless.  I  knew  what  was  before  mo, 
and  therefore  I  dreaded  this  dark,  dark  day,  and  begged  you 
to  save  her.  She  was  the  world  to  me.  She  supplied  the 
place  of  father,  mother,  husband,  society,  and  becaiise  God 
saw  that  her  loving  sympathy  and  care  made  my  existence 
a  trifle  less  purgatorial  than  lie  saw  fit  to  render  it,  He  took 
her  away.  My  poor  Elsie  would  quit  the  highest  throne  in 
heaven  to  come  back  to  her  desolate,  dependent  child ;  for  only 
fciie  knew  how  and  why  I  trusted  and  leaned  upon  her.  Ah, 
Cod  !  it  if?  hard  that  1  who  Lave  so  long  shunned  strangers 
should  be  at  their  mercy,  in  the  last  hour  of  trial  that  can  b? 
it1  vised  by  fiends,  or  allowed  by  heaven  to  aiilict  rue." 

She  struggled  to  free  her  h;mds  and  hide  her  face,  but  he? 
companion  clasped  them  in  one  of  his,  anil  attempted  to  dnvw 
her  head  down  to  his  shoulder. 

"No,  sir!  The  gi-ave  is  the  only  resting-place  for  my  poc-rt 
accursed  head.  Do  not  touch  mo." 


256  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  LO  PART. 

She  shrank  as  far  as  possible  from  him,  and  her  voice,  hitherto 
BO  firm  and  dry,  trembled. 

"  M  rs.  Gerome,  I  intend  to  take  Elsie's  place.  You  had  con 
fidence  in  her  sagacity  and  penetration,  and  know  that  she  wag 
cautious  in  all  things.  During  her  long  illness  she  studied  ray 
character  and  antecedents,  and  finally  begged  me  o  -ake  you 
under  rny  guardianship  when  she  could  no  longer  watch  ovei 
you.  She  was  importunate  in  her  appeal,  and  to  comfort  and 
compose  her  I  gave  her  a  solemn  promise  that  at  her  death  ] 
would  take  her  place.  You  may  deem  me  intrusive,  and  per 
haps  presumptuously  impertinent,  but  time  proves  all  things, 
and,  after  a  little  while,  you  wfll  cling  to  me  as  yo\i  so  long 
clung  to  her.  I  shall  wait  patiently  for  your  confidence;  shall 
deserve,  —  and  then  exact  it.  You  need  a  strong  arm  to  curt 
and  guide  you,  —  you  need  a  true,  hoiaest  heart,  to  sympathize 
with  your  sorrows  and  difficulties,  —  you  need  a  fearless  friend 
to  defend  you  from  the  assaults  of  gossip  and  malice ;  and  all 
these,  if  God  spares  my  life,  1  am  resolved  to  be  to  you.  You 
can  not,  repulse,  or  olFend,  or  chill,  or  wound  me,  for  my  word  is 
sacredly  pledged  to  the  dead ;  and,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  will 
strictly  and  fully  redeem  it,  when  we  meet  at  the  last  day." 

The  earnestness  of  his  manner,  the  grave  resolution  of  his 
tone,  and  the  invincible  fearlessness  with  which  his  clear,  calm, 
penetrating  eyes,  looked  into  hers,  seemed  momentarily  to  over 
awe  her ;  and  she  sat  quite  still,  pondering  his  unexpected 
words.  Pressing  her  cold  fingers  very  gently,  he  continued,  — 

"  Elsie  had  such  confidence  in  my  discretion,  and  friendly 
interest  in  your  welfare,  that  she  requested  me  to  warn  her  of 
h^r  approaching  dissolution  in  order  that  she  might  communi 
cate  something,  which  she  assured  me  she  desired  to  confide  to 
me  before  her  death.  The  paralysis  of  her  tongue  prevented 
the  fulfilment  of  her  wish,  but  you  saw  how  keenly  she  suffered 
from  her  inability  to  utter  what  was  pressing  on  her  heart. 
Yoi!  can  not  have  forgotten  that  her  last  act  was  to  put  youi 
ba»d  in  mine,  and  you  heard  my  solemn  acceptance  of  the  charge 
JOT; im  it  ted  to  me." 

A i)  expression  of  dread  that  bordered  on  hjrror,  camo  pver 


LNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  257 

her  ghastly  face,  and  her  hands  grasped  his,  almost  spasmodi 
cally. 

"  Did  she  Lint  what  she  wished  to  tell  you  ?  Did  you  guew 
it  all  ?  " 

"No  Whatever  her  secret  may  have  been,  it  passfd  un- 
nttered  into  that  realm  where  all  mysteries  are  solved.  I 
neither  know  nor  surmise  the  nature  of  her  desired  revelation, 
but  some  day  when  you  fully  understand  me,  I  shall  ask  you  to 
tell  me  that  which  she  believed  I  ought  to  know.  My  dear 
madam,  when  1  come  to  you  and  demand  your  confidence,  1 
have  no  fear  that  you  will  withhold  it." 

Site  closed  her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  some  painful  vision,  and 
drooped  her  head  lower,  till  it  rested  on  her  chest. 

The  sun  flashed  up  from  his  ocean  bed,  and,  as  the  first  beams 
fell  on  the  woman's  hair,  Dr.  Grey  softly  passed  his  broad  white 
hand  over  its  perfumed  masses,  redolent  of  orange  flowers. 

"  The  air  is  too  damp  for  you.  Come  with  me  to  the 
house." 

She  did  not  heed  his  words,  and  perhaps  his  touch  on  her 
head  recalled  some  exquisitely  painful  memory,  for  she  shook  it 
off,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Doubtless,  like  the  remainder  of  the  curious  herd,  you  are 
wondering  at  my '  crown  of  glory,'  —  and  conjecturing  wh&t  dire 
tragedy  bequeathed  it  to  me.  Sir,  — 

'  My  hair  was  black,  but  white  my  life : 

The  colors  in  exchange  are  cast ! 
The  white  upon  my  hair  is  rife, 
The  black  upon  my  life  has  passed.' 

Dr.  Grey,  I  understand  you ;  but  you  need  not  stay  here  to 
Veep  guard  over  me,  as  if  I  were  an  imbecile  or  a  refugee  from 
an  insane  asylum.  That  I  am  not  the  one  or  the  other,  ia 
attri?jutable  to  the  fact  that  my  powers  of  endurance  are  almost 
fabulous.  You  fear  that  in  my  loneliness  and  complete  isola 
tion  1  may  turn  coward,  at  the  last  ordeal  1  am  put  through,  — 
and,  like  Zeno  cry  out,  and  in  a  tit  of  desperation  strangle 
myself?  Dr.  Grey,  make  yourself  eany.  I  d<  not  love  my 
22* 


£58  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Creator  so  devotedly  that  I  must  needs  hurry  into  hia  presence 
before  He  sees  proper  to  send  me  a  summons.'' 

"  I  am  afraid  to  leave  you  here,  for  any  woman  who  dosa  not 
luve  and  reverence  her  Maker,  requires  a  guardian.  Of  courw 
you  will  do  a*  you  like,  but  I  shall  remain  here  aa  long  ••*» 
fOU  do." 

Hs  rose,  and  crossing  his  arms  on  his  chest,  began,  to  walk 
iboufc  the  pavilion.  She  caught  up  her  hair,  twisted  it  hastily 
into  a  knot,  and  secured  it  with  her  comb.  As  she  did  so,  A 
small  cluster  of  double  violets  dropped  into  her  lap.  She  had 
gathered  them  the  preceding  afternoon,  had  carried  them  as  an 
offering  to  Elsie,  who  insisted  that  she  should  wear  them  in  her 
hair,  "they  looked  so  bonnie  just  behind  the  little  roguish  ear." 
At  her  request  Mrs.  Gerome  had  placed  them  at  the  side  of  her 
head,  and  the  old  woman  made  her  lean  down  that  she  might 
smell  them,  and  leave  a  kiss  on  their  blue  petals.  Now  the 
sight  of  the  withered  flo\v-jrs  melted  her  icy  composure,  and,  as 
she  lifted  the  little  crushed,  faded  bouquet,  and  pressed  it 
against  her  wan  cheek,  a  moan  broke  from  her  colorless  lips. 

"  Oh,  Elsie,  —  Elsie !  How  could  you  desert  me  ?  You  knew 
you  were  all  I  had  to  love  and  trust,  —  and  how  could  you  die 
and  leave  me  alone,  —  utterly  alone,  in  this  miserable  world 
that  has  so  cruelly  injured  me  !  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  passionately  over  the  flowers,  and  the 
motion  caused  the  sapphire  ring,  which  was  now  much  too 
large,  to  slip  from  the  thin  linger,  and  roll  ringing  across  the 
marble  floor. 

Dr.  Grey  picked  it  up,  and  as  he  replaced  it,  drew  her  hand 
under  his  arm,  and  led  her  out  of  the  boat-house.  They  walked 
slowly,  and  as  they  ascended  the  steps,  he  saw  his  buggy  ap 
proaching  the  side  gate. 

Opening  the  parlor  door,  he  drew  his  companion  into  the 
room,  where  the  Psyche  lamp  still  burned  brightly. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  will  you  trust  me?  " 

He  had  hoped  that  a  return  to  the  house  would  touch  her 
heart  and  make  her  weep,  but  the  cold,  dry  glitter  cf  her  eyet 
disappointed  him. 


UNTIL  DEATH    US  DO  PART.  259 

"Dr.  Grey,  I  trust  neither  men  i  or  women,  i\.>r  t»en  the- 
angels  in  heaven;  for  one  of  them  turned  serpent,  and  if 
tradition  be  true,  made  earth  the  dismal  '  Bochirn '  1.  have 
found  it." 

She  turned  from  him,  and  threw  herself  wearily  npon  Lb* 
;Sivan  that  filled  the  recess  of  the  oriel  window. 

Securing  the  door  of  the  library,  lie  extinguished  the 
ui>d  closing  the  parlor  went  out  to  meet  Salome. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

fOCTOR  GREY,  you  look  weary  and  anxious." 

"  f  feel  so,  for  this  has  been  a  memorable  night,.'' 
"The    servant  who   opened   the   gate  for   us  said 
that  the  poor  old  woman  died  about  daybreak." 

1  «/ 

"Yes;  when  I  arrived  I  found  her  speechless,  and  of  course 
could  do  nothing  but  watch  her  die.  Come  down  this  walk,  1 
wish  to  talk  to  you  before  you  go  into  the  house." 

He  pointed  to  a  serpentine  walk,  overarched  by  laurustiuutt, 
and  they  had  proceeded  some  yards  before  he  spoke  again. 

"Salome,  I  believe  you  told  me  that  you  had  met  Mrs. 
G  Pro  mo?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  once  upon  the  cliffs,  a  mile  below,  I  saw  her  for  a 
fe»w  moments." 

"  Hit'"  is  p.  very  eccentric  woman." 

<;  f  ;;b  'i-.tld  judge  so,  from  her  appearance." 

"  Her  life  seems  to  have  been  blighted  by  early  griefs,,  ara 
i?he  has  gro~\\n  cynical  and  misanthropic.  Loving  no  one  but 
her  faithful  and  devoted  nurse,  she  has  completely  isolates;! 
herself,  and  consequently  the  death  of  this  servant-—  o<  m 
panion- — nay,  foster-mother  —  is  a  terrible  How  to  her.  ! 
war.*:  your  promise  that  what  you  may  hear  or  witness  la  tV'a 


260  USTIL  DEATH  U8  DO   PART. 

house  shall  not  travel  beyond  its  walls  to  iced  the  worse-thai^ 
Ugolino  hunger  of  never-satiated  scandal  and  gossip." 

Salome's  brow  contracted  and  darkened. 

"Do  you  class  nie  among  newsmr-tigers  and  character 
Cannibals'?" 

"  If  I  did,  you  certainly  would  not  be  here  at  this  instant. 
sent  for  you  to  come  and  take  my  place  temporarily,  as  I  nr;; 
compelled  to  see  a  patient  many  miles  distant,  who  is  dan 
gerously  ill.  The  majority  of  women  might  go  away,  and  com 
ment  upon  the  occurrences  of  this  melancholy  day,  but  I  wish 
to  keep  sacred  all  that  Mrs.  (Jerome  desires  to  screen  from 
public  gaze  and  animadversion.  Because  she  is  not  fond  of 
society,  it  revenges  itself  by  circulating  reports  detrimental  to 
the  owner  of  a  house  which  is  elegantly  furnished,  not  for  popu 
lar  praise,  but  solely  for  her  own  comfort  and  gratification. 
While  I  regard  her  course  as  very  deplorable,  and  particularly 
impolitic  for  one  so  young  and  unprotected,  I  am  totally  un 
acquainted  with  the  reasons  that  control  her ;  and,  in  this  hour 
of  grief  and  bitterness,  I  earnestly  desire  to  shield  her  from 
intrusion  and  impertinent  scrutiny." 

"  In  other  words,  you  wish  me  to  have  eyes  and  yet  see  not, 
—  and  having  ears  to  hear  not  ?  You  must  indeed  have  little 
confidence  in  my  good  sense,  and  still  less  m  my  feminine  sym 
pathy  for  the  afflicted,  if  you  suppose  that  under  existing  cir 
cumstances  I  could  come  to  the  house  of  mourning  to  collect 
materials  to  be  rolled  as  sweet  morsels  under  the  slanderous 
tongues,  that  already  wag  so  industriously  concerning  '  Solitude ' 
and  its  solitary  mistress.  Verily,  I  occupy  a  lofty  niche  in 
TOUT  estimation,  and  it  would  doubtless  be  pardonably  prudent 
in  you  to  reconsider,  and  bid  Elbert  take  me  home  with  alj 
possible  dispatch,  before  I  see  Fatinia  or  Bluebeard." 

"When  will  you  cease  to  be  childish,  and  remember  that  ft 
woman's  work  lies  before  you  ?  " 

"You  may  date  that  desirable  transmogrification  from  the 
hour  when  you  cease  to  stir  up  the  mud  and  drogs  :n  my 
nature,  by  doubting  ths  possibility  that  they  wall  ever  settle, 


UNTIL    DEATH   US  DO    ?ART.  261 

and  leave  a  pure  medium  between  your  soul  and  mine.  J.ist  so 
soon,  —  and  no  sooner." 

"  My  young  friend,  you  are  too  sensitive.  I  now  offer  you 
the  strongest  proof  of  confidence  that  1  can  ever  hope  to  com 
mand,  \Vill  you  take  charge  of  this  stricken  household  in  my 
absence,  aud  not  only  superintend  the  arrangements  necessary 
Tor  the  funeral,  hut  watch  over  Mrs.  Gerome  and  see  that  nc 
one  disturbs  her?  " 

"  You  may  trust  me  to  execTite  her  wishes  and  your  orders." 

'•Thank  you.  There  certainiy  is  no  one  except  you  whom  I 
«  ould  trust  in  this  emergency.  One  thing  more ;  if  Mrs.  Gerome 
loaves  the  house,  do  not  lose  sight  of  her.  It  may  be  necessary 
to  keep  a  very  strict  surveillance  over  her,  and  I  will  return  as 
*oon  as  possible,  and  relieve  you." 

As  they  entered  the  house,  Salome  said, — 

"  You  will  stop  at  home  and  get  your  breakfast  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  not  havo  time." 

"  Let  me  make  you  a  cup  of  coffee  before  you  start." 

"Thank  you,  it  is  not  necessary;  and  besides,  the  house  is  in 
Buch  confusion  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  obtain  anything. 
Come  with  me." 

She  followed  him  into  the  dim  room,  where  the  tall  but 
emaciated  form,  of  Elsie  Maclean  had  been  dressed  for  its  last 
long  sleep.  The  housemaid  sat  at  the  bedside,  and  Robert  stood 
&4,  one  of  the  windows. 

The  first  passionate  burst  of  grief  had  spent  itself,  and  the 
iK"n  was  very  calm. 

At  a  sign  from  Dr.  Grey  he  came  forward,  and  bowed  to  the 
stranirei1. 

a  Robert,  I  are  obliged  to  be  absent  for  several  hours,  and 
Miss  Owen  will  remain  until  I  return.  Tf  you  need  advice  or 
assistance  come  to  her,  and  do  not  disturb  Mrs.  Gerome,  who  i.s 
'yirg  on  a  sofa  in  the  parlor.  I  will  drive  thro  igh  town,  and 
seir.1  your  minister  out  immediately." 

"You  are  very  good,  sir.  Do  yu  think  the  funeral  should 
take  place  before  to-morro\r ?  I  want  to  speak  to  my  mistress 
nbout  it." 


262  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  For  her  sake,  it  is  advisable  that  it  shmild  not  be  delayed 
beyond  this  afternoon.  It  is  very  harrowing  to  know  that  the 
body  is  lying  here,  and  I  think  she  would  prefer  to  leave  aU 
theso  matters  to  you.  Tt  would  be  better  for  all  parties  to 
have  the  funeral  ceremonies  ended  this  evening." 

"  I  suppose,  sir,  you  know  that  my  poor  mother  will  be  buried 
here,  in  the  grounds." 

:<  For  what  reason?    The  cemetery  is  certainly  the  best  ^lace.* 

Robert  handed  a  slip  of  paper  to  Dr.  Grey,  who  read,  in  a 
remarkably  beautiful  chirography,  the  following  words, — 

"  Robert,  it  was  your  mother's  desire  and  is  my  wish  that  she 
should  be  buried  near  that  cluster  of  deodar  cedars,  just  beyond 
the  mound.  Send  for  an  undertaker,  and  for  the  minister  who 
visited  her  during  her  illness;  and  let  everything  be  done  as  if 
it  were  my  funeral  instead  of  hers.  Put  some  geranium  leave* 
and  violets  in  her  dear  hands,  and  upon  her  breast." 

"  "When  did  you  receive  this  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Grey. 

"A  moment  ago,  Phoebe,  the  cook,  brought  it  to  me  from  my 
mistress." 

"Of  course  you  have  no  choice,  but  must  comply  with  her 
wishes  and  those  of  the  dead.  Still,  I  regret  this  decision." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  it  is  ill  luck  to  keep  a  grave  near  the  eaves  of  a 
house,  and  it  will  be  bad  for  my  mistress  to  have  it  always  in 
sight ;  for  she  mopes  enough  at  best,  and  does  not  sleep  o'nights, 
and  the  Lord  only  knows  what  will  become  of  her  with  my 
poor  mothei^'s  corpse  and  coffin  within  ten  yards  of  her  window. 
Sir,  how  does  she  take  this  awful  blow  ?  It  comforted  me  to 
know  you  were  with  her." 

"  She  bears  this  affliction  as  she  seems  to  have  endured  a!! 
others  that  have  overtaken  her,  in  a  spirit  of  rebellious  bitter 
ness  and  defiance.  I  am  afraid  that  the  excitement  will  seriously 
injure  her.  Salome,  I  will  return  as  early  as  the  safety  of  & 
patient  will  permit." 

Robert  followed  the  doctor  to  his  buggy,  to  consul  c  him  with 
reference  to  some  of  the  sad  details  of  the  impending  funeral, 
and  after  a  hasty  glance  at  the  p  .acid  countenance  of  the  dead, 
Salome  went  back  to  the  hall,  and  sat  down  opposite  to  th« 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

parlor  door,  which  had  been  pointed  out  to  her.  Her  nerves 
were  strong,  healthy,  and  firm,  but  the  presence  of  death,  the 
profound  silence  that  reigned,  the  chill  atmosphere,  and  dreary 
aspect  of  the  house,  —  all  conspired  to  oppress  her  heart. 

Through  the  open  door  she  could  see  the  ever  restless  Bj-a5 
\nd  hear  its  endless  murmuring  monotone,  and  imagination 
<5oizhig  the  ill-omened  legends  she  had  heard  recounted  conceit 
tag  this  spot,  peopled  the  corners  of  the  hall  with  phantoms, 
and  every  flitting  shadow  on  the  lawn  became  a  spectre. 

Now  and  then  the  servants —  two  middle-aged  women  — 
passed  softly  to  and  fro,  and  twice  Robert  crossed  the  passage, 
but  not  a  sound  issued  from  the  parlor ;  and  once,  when  Phrcba 
came  with  her  mistress's  breakfast  on  a  waiter,  and  tried  the 
bolt,  she  found  the  door  locked.  She  knocked  several  times,  but 
receiving  no  answer  went  quietly  back  to  the  kitchen. 

Weary  of  sitting  on  one  of  the  hard,  uncomfortable  walnut 
chairs,  that  stood  with  its  high  carved  back  close  to  the  wall, 
Salome  -*ose,  and  amused  herself  by  studying  the  engravings 
that  surrounded  her.  In  the  midst  of  her  investigations  she 
was  startled  by  a  loud,  doleful,  blood-curdling  sound,  that 
seemed  to  proceed  from  some  spot  immediately  beneath  the  floor 
of  the  hall.  It  was  different  from  anything  she  had  ever  heard 
before,  biit  resembled  the  prolonged  howl  of  a  dog,  and  rose  and 
fell  on  the  air  like  a  cry  from  some  doomed  spirit. 

Robert  came  out  of  the  room  which  his  mother  had  always 
occupied,  and,  as  he  passed  Salome,  she  asked, — 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  horrible 
noise  ?  " 

"Only  the  grej7hound  howling  at  the  dead  that  he  known  is 
tying  over  his  head.  Ah,  ma'am !  The  poor  brute  sees  what 
we  can't  see,  and  his  death-baying  is  awful." 

"Where  is  he?  The  sound  seems  to  come  through  th« 
floor." 

"  He  is  so  savage  that  I  was  afraid  he  would  hurt  some  of  th*» 
ttrangers  who  will  come  here  to-day,  so  1  chained  him  in  the 
basement.  Hist,  ma'am  !  Did  you  ever  hear  anytliing  BO  dread 
ful  ?  It  raises  the  hair  of  my  head." 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART. 

He  went  down  stairs,  and  the  howling,  which  was  caused  by 
the  fact  that  the  dog  was  hungry  and  unaccustomed  to  being 
chained,  ce;ised  as  soon  as  he  was  set  free.  Ere  long  Robert, 
caine  back,  followed  by  the  greyhound,  whose  collar  he  grasped 
firr-Jy.  At  sight  of  Salome  he  growled  and  plunged  towards 
tar,  but  Robert  was  on  the  alert,  and  held  him  down.  Leading 
*im  to  the  parlor  door,  the  gardener  knocked,  and  put  his 
rttouth  to  the  key-hole. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  will  you  let  Greyhound  in  ?  It  wonrt 
do  to  leave  him  at  large,  and  when  I  chain  him  he  almost  lifts 
the  roof  with  his  howls." 

No  reply  reached  Salome's  strained  ears,  but  the  door  was 
>pened  sufficiently  to  adroit  the  dog,  who  eagerly  bounded  in, 
and  then  the  click  of  the  lock  once  more  barred  intrusion ;  and 
when  the  joyful  barking  had  ceased,  all  grew  silent  once  more. 

From  a  basket  of  fresh  flowers  brought  in  by  the  boy  who 
assisted  Robert,  Salome  selected  the  white  ones  and  made  a 
wreath,  which  she  laid  aside  and  sprinkled ;  then  gathering  some 
rose  and  nutmeg  geranium-leaves,  and  a  few  violets  blooming  in 
jars  that  stood  on  the  gallery,  she  cautiously  glided  into  the 
chamber  of  death,  and  arranged  them  in  Elsie's  rigid  hands. 

Soon  after,  the  undertaker  and  minister  arrived,  and  while 
they  conferred  with  Robert  concerning  the  burial  service,  the 
girl  went  back  to  her  vigil  before  the  parlor  door,  and  endeavored 
to  divert  her  thoughts  by  looking  into  a  volume  of  poems  that 
lay  on  the  hall  table.  The  book  opened  at  "  Macromicros,"  vhere 
a.  brilliant  verbena  Avas  crushed  between  the  leaves,  and  delicate 
•u:  dilating  pencil-lines  enclosed  the  passage  beginning, — 

"  O  woman,  woman,  with  face  so  pale  1 

Pale  woman,  weaving  away 
A  frustrate  life  at  a  lifeless  loom. " 

dlowly  the  hours  wore  away,  and  at  noon  Elsie's  body  wan 
>.iaced  in  the  coffin  and  left  on  a  table  in  the  room  opposite  tht* 
jxirlor. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  Dr.  Grey  came  up  the  steps,  looking 
more  fatigued  than  Salome  had  ever  seen  him.  He  sat  down 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART,  265 

beside  her  on  the  gallery,  and  sighed  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  cf 
the  men  who  were  bricking  up  the  grave  that  yawned  on  the 
right  hand  side  of  the  lawn, 

"  Where  is  .Mrs.  Gerome  ?  " 

"In  the  parlor.  Once  I  heard  her  pacing  the  ilcor  very 
rapidly,  and  saying  something  to  her  dog.  Since  then  —  two 
hours  ago  — -  not  a  sound  has  reached  me." 

"  She  has  taken  no  food  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  The  servant  who  prepared  her  breakfast  knocked 
twice  at  the  door,  but  was  refused  admittance." 

Dr.  Grey  went  into  the  hall,  and  rapped  vigorously  on  the 
door,  but  there  was  110  movement  within. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  please  permit  me  to  speak  to  you  for  a  few 
minutes.  If  it  were  not  necessary,  I  woxild  not  disturb  you." 

The  appeal  produced  no  eifect;  and,  without  hesitation,  he 
walked  to  the  door  of  the  library  or  rear  parlor,  —  took  the  key 
from  his  pocket,  opened  it,  and  entered. 

The  dog  was  asleep  on  the  velvet  rug  before  the  hearth,  and 
his  mistress  sat  at  her  escritoire,  with  her  arms  resting  on  the 
blue  desk,  and  her  face  hidden  upon  them.  A  number  of  letters 
and  papers  were  scattered  about,  and,  in  an  open  drawer  a  silver 
casket  was  visible,  with  a  pearl  key  in  its  lock. 

Bef^^  the  marble  Harpocrates  stood  two  slender  violet- 
colored  Venetian  glasses,  representing  tulips,  and  iilled  with 
fuchsias  and  clematis  that  were  dropping  their  faded  velvet 
pstals,  and  the  atmosphere  was  sweet  with  the  breath  of  carna 
tions  and  mignonette  blooming  in  the  south  window. 

Dr.  Grey  hoped  that  Mrs.  Gerome  had  fallen  asleep ;  but 
when  he  bent  over  her,  he  saw  In  the  mirror  above  her  that  the 
large,  bright  eyes  were  gazing  vacantly  into  the  recess  of  the 
desk. 

She  noticed  his  image  reflected  in  the  glass,  and  instantly  sat 
upright,  spreading  her  hands  over  ner  papers  as  if  to  screen 
them.  He  (brew  a  chair  near  hers,  and  put  his  finger  on  Iter 
pulse,  which  throbbed  so  rapidly  lie  could  scarcely  count  it. 

"  Have  you  slept  at  all,  since  I  left  you  this  morning?  " 

"No." 

23 


266  UNTIL  DEATH  OS  DO  PART. 

"You  promised  that  you  would  not  attempt  to  destroy 
yourself." 

"  I  have  kept  my  word." 

"  Yes ;  you  *  keep  it  to  our  ear,  and  break  it  to  our  hope,' 
for  you  must  know  that  unless  yon  take  some  rest  and  refresh 
ment,  you  will  be  seriously  ill." 

He  saw  a  spark  leap  up  in  her  eyes,  like  a  bubble  tossed 
Into  sunshine  by  a  sudden  ripple,  and  she  shook  back  the  hair 
that  seemed  to  oppress  her. 

**Do  not  tease  and  torment  me,  now.     I  want  to  bo  quiet." 

"  My  task  is  an  unpleasant  one,  therefore  I  shall  not  postpone 
it.  In  a  short  time  —  within  the  next  hour  —  Elsie  will  be 
buried,  and  you  owe  a  last  tribute  of  gratitude  and  respect  to 
her  remains.  Will  yo\i  refuse  it  to  the  faithful  friend  to  whom 
you  are  indebted  for  so  much  affection  and  considerate  care  ?  " 

"  She  would  not  wish  me  to  do  anything  that  is  so  repugnant, 
BO  painful  to  me." 

"  Have  you  no  desire  to  look  at  her  kind,  placid  face  once 
more  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  remember  it  as  in  life,  —  not  rigid  and  repulsive 
in  death." 

"  She  looks  so  tranquil  you  would  think  she  was  sleeping." 

"  No,  —  no !  Don't  ask  me.  I  never  saw  but  one  corp&e,  and 
that  was  of  a  sailor  drowned  in  mid  ocean,  and  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  forget  its  ghastliness  and  distortion  as  it  lay  on  deck, 
under  sickly  moonshine." 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  you  must  follow  Elsie's  body  to  the  grave. 
Relieve  that  I  have  good  reasons  for  this  request,  and  grant  it." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Your  habits  of  seclusion  have  svbjected  you  to  unuian- 
table  remarks,  and  your  absence  from  the  funeral  would  create 
more  gossip  than  any  woman  can  afford  to  give  grounds  for. 
There  is  a  rumor  afloat  that  you  are  deranged,  and  the  best 
refutation  will  be  your  quiet-  presence  at  the  grave  of 
faithful  nurse." 

She  straightened  herself,  hiughtily. 


UNTIL  DEITII   US  DO   PART.  267 

"Seven  years  ago  1  turned  my  back  upon  the  world,  and 
scorned  its  verdict." 

"The  men  or  women  who  defy  public  opinion  invite  social 
impalement,  arid  rarely  fail  to  merit  the  branding  and  oppro 
brium  they  invariably  receive.  Madam,  I  should  imagine  :ha' 
to  a  nature  so  refined  and  shrinking  as  yours,  almost  any  trut 
would  seem  slight  in  comparison  with  the  certainty  of  becoming 
a  target  for  sarcasm,  pity,  and  malice,  in  every  bitchen  in  tht 
neighborhood.  Permit  my  prudence  to  prevail  over  your  re 
luctance  to  the  step  I  have  advised,  and  some  day  you  will  thank 
me  for  my  persistency.  You  have  time  to  make  the  proper 
changes  in  your  dress,  and,  when  the  hour  arrives,  I  will  knock 
at  your  own  door.  My  dear  madam,  do  not  delay." 

She  i'osu,  and  began  to  replace  the  papers  in  the  drawers  of 
her  desk,  which  she  closed  and  locked. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  why  should  you  care  if  I  am  slandered  ?  " 

u  Because  I  am  now  your  best  friend,  and  must  tell  you 
frankly  your  foibles  and  langers,  and  endeavor  to  guard  you 
from  the  faintest  breath  of  detraction." 

"  1  am  very  suspicious  concerning  the  motives  of  all  who 
come  about  rue ;  and,  at  times,  I  have  been  so  unjust  as  to 
ascribe  even  my  poor  Elsie's  devotion  to  a  desire  to  control 
my  fortune  for  the  benefit  of  herself  and  child.  Do  you  expect 
rre  to  trust  you  more  implicitly  than  I  ever  trusted  her?" 

'{ I  shall  make  it  impossible  for  you  to  doubt  me.  Come  to. 
your  room.  Elsie's  few  acquaintances  will  soon  be  here." 

Mrs.  Gerome  thrust  the  key  of  her  desk  into  her  pocket,  but 
R  moment  after,  when  she  drew  out  her  handkerchief,  it  fell  on 
the  carpet,  and  without  observing  it,  she  passed  swiftly  across 
the  hall,  and  into  her  own  apartment. 

As  Dr.  Grey  lingered  to  secure  the  door,  his  eye  fell  \ipon  the 
Rilver  key  on  the  floor;  and,  placing  it  in  his  vest  pocket,  lie 
rejoined  Salome. 

At.  four  o'clock  several  of  Robert's  friends  came  and  seated 
themselves  in  the  room  where  the  coffin  sat  wreathed  with 
flowers ;  and  immediately  after,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spiewell  made 
fcheir  appearance,  accompanied  by  two  ladies  whoso  feature* 


268  UNTIL  LEATI1  US  DO  PART. 

were  concealed  by  thick  veils,     Robert  and  the  Strta.ru s 
joined  them,  and  Salome  stole  into  the  room  and  sat  do\*n  in 
one  corner. 

Dr,  Grey  tapped  softly  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Gerome's  apart 
ment,  and  she  came  out  instantly,  and  walked  firmly  forworn 
'till  she  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  dead.  She  was  dressed  in 
black  silk,  and  wore  two  heavy  lace  veils  over  her  bonnet, 
which  effectually  screened  her  countenance.  Crossing  the  floor, 
she  stood  at  Robert's  side,  and  the  minister  rose  and  began  tlio 
burial  service. 

When  a  prayer  was  offered,  all  the  othei  persons  present 
bowed  their  heads,  but  the  mistress  of  the  i  aansion  remained 
wect  and  motionless ;  and,  as  the  pall-bearers  took  up  the  coffin 
and  proceeded  to  the  grave,  she  followed  llobert. 

Dr.  Grey  stepped  to  her  side  and  offered  his  arm,  but  she  took 
no  notice  of  the  act,  and  walked  on  as  if  she  were  an  automaton. 

The  service  was  concluded,  the  Coffin  lowered,  and,  amid 
Robert's  half-smothered  sobs,  the  mound  was  raised  under  the 
deodars,  whose  long  shadows  slanted  athwart  it,  in  the  dying 
sunlight. 

The  little  group  dispersed,  and  Mr.  Spiewell  led  his  wife  to 
the  owner  of  "  Solitude." 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  Mrs.  Spiewell  and  I  have  long  desired  the 
pleasure  of  your  acquaintance,  and  hope,  if  you  need  friends, 
you  will  permit  us  —  " 

"  Thank  you  for  your  kindness  in  visiting  my  faithful  old 
Elsie." 

The  tall,  veiled  figure  had  cut  short  his  speech  by  a  quick, 
imperative  gesture  of  her  hand;  and,  turning  instantly  away, 
disappeared  in  one  of  the  densely  shaded  walks  that  wound 
through  the  grounds. 

Dr.  Grey  escorted  the  party  to  their  carriages,  and  as  he 
handed  Mrs.  Spiewell  in,  she  said,  in  her  sharp  nasal  tones,  — 

"  I  heard  that  Mrs.  Gerome  was  devotedly  attac  \ed  to  the 
poor  old  creature  who  had  nursed  her,  but  she  certainly  seems 
to  me  very  indifferent  and  heartless." 

"She   is   more    deeply  afflicted   by  her  loss  than    you   can 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  269 

possibly  realize,  and  I  am  exceedingly  apprehensi  ee  hat  she 
will  be  ill  in  consequence  of  her  inability  to  sleep  or  eat.  My 
dear  madam,  we  must  not  judge  too  hastily  from  appearances, 
else  we  shall  deserve  similar  treatment.  Who  are  those  iwo 
ladies  veiled  so  closely  ?  " 

"  Friends,  I  presume,  or  they  would  not  be  here." 

But  the  little  woman  seemed  uneasy,  and  flushed  under  the 
doctor's  searching  gaze. 

"  I  hope  dear  Miss  Jane  is  as  well  as  one  can  ever  expect 
her  to  be  in  this  life.  Come,  Charles ;  you  forget,  my  dear, 
that  we  have  a  visit  to  make  before  tea-time.  I  notice,  doctor, 
that  you  have  a  new  carpet  on  the  floor  of  your  pew,  and  a  new 
cushion-cover  to  match ;  and,  indeed,  you  are  sc  nne  that  th« 
remainder  of  the  church  seems  quite  faded  and  shabby.  Good 
evening,  doctor ;  my  love  to  all  at  home." 

The  clergyman's  gray  pony  trotted  off  with  his  master  and 
mistress,  and  Dr.  Grey  returned  to  Salome,  who  waited  for  him 
at  the  steps  of  the  terrace. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  brought  Mrs.  Charming  and  Adelaide 
to  the  poor  old  woman's  funeral  ?  "  asked  the  orphan. 

"How  did  you  discover  them?" 

"  T  found  this  handkerchief,  whose  initials  I  embroidered 
two  months  ago,  and  recognize  as  belonging  to  Mrs.  Channing. 
As  for  Miss  Adelaide,  when  she  moved  her  veil  a  little  aside  to 
peep  at  Mrs.  Gerome,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  pretty  face 
Do  they  visit  here  ?  " 

"Certainly  not;  nobody  visits  here  but  the  butcher,  bakei, 
and  doctor.  Those  ladies  came  solely  on  a  tour  of  inspection, 
and  to  £  ratify  a  curiosity  that  is  not  flattering  to  their  cha 
racters.  My  dear  child,  you  look  tired." 

"  Dr.  Grey,  what  is  there  so  mysterious  about  this  house 
and  its  owner  that  all  the  town  is  agog  and  agape  when  the? 
subject  is  mentioned?  What  is  Mrs.  Gerome's  historv9" 

"  I  am  totally  unacquainted  with  its  details,  and  only  know 

chat  since  she  became  a  widow,  she  has  been  a  complete  recluse. 

She  is  very  mmappy,  and  we  must  exert  ourselves  to  cheer  her. 

This  has  been  a  lonely,  dreary  day  to  you,  I  fear,  and  I  truat 

23* 


270  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART, 

it  -will  not  be  necessar^  for  me  tc  ask  you  to  reraain  her* 
to-night." 

The  sun  had  set,  leaving  magnificent  cloud-pictures  on  sky 
and  sea,  and  while  the  orphan  turned  to  enjoy  the  glorious 
prospect  above  and  around  her,  Dr.  Grey  went  in  search  of  th<? 
lonely  woman  who  now  continually  occupied  his  thoughts. 

She  was  standing  under  the  pyramidal  cedars,  looking  down 
at  the  new  grave,  where  Salome's  wreath  hung  on  the  heal- 
board,  and  hearing  approaching  footsteps  would  have  moved 
away,  but  he  said,  pleadingly,  — 

"  Do  not  avoid  me." 

She  paused,  and  suddenly  held  out  her  hands  to  him. 

"Ah,  —  is  it  you?  Dr.  Grey,  what  shall  I  do?  How  can 
I  bear  to  live  here,  —  alone,  —  alone." 

He  took  her  hands  and  looked  down  into  her  white,  chill  face. 

"  My  dear  friend,  take  your  suffering  heart  to  God,  and  He 
will  heal,  and  comfort,  and  strengthen  you.  If  He  has  sorely 
afflicted  you,  try  to  believe  that  Infinite  love  and  mercy  directed 
all  things,  and  that  ultimately  every  sorrow  of  earth  will  be 
overruled  for  your  eternal  repose  and  happiness.  Remember 
that  this  world  is  but  a  threshing-floor,  where  angels  Tise  afflic 
tions  as  flails,  to  beat  the  chaff  and  dust  from  our  hearts,  and 
present  them  as  perfect  grain  for  the  garnets  of  God.  I  know 
that  you  are  desolate,  but  you  can  never  be  utterly  alone,  since 
the  precious  promise,  '  Lo !  1  am  with  you  alway,  even  unto 
the  end  of  the  world.'  " 

Despairingly  she  shook  her  head. 

"  All  that  might  comfort  some  people,  but  it  falls  on  my  eai* 
and  heart  like  the  sound  of  the  clods  on  Elsie's  coffin.  I  havo 
QO  religion,  —  no  faith,  —  no  hope,  —  in  time  or  eternity.  Mj 
miserable  past  entombs  all  things." 

"  Do  not  unearth  your  woes,  —  let  the  grave  seal  theia, 
^our  life  stands  waiting  to  be  sanctified,  —  dedicated  t/»  Hinr 
«rho  gave  it.  My  dear  friend,  — 

'  Clean83  it  and  mak«  it  pure,  ana  tashion  it 
After  His  image :  heal  thyself ;  from  grief 
Comes  glory,  like  a  rainbow  from  a  cloud.' '' 


UNTIL  DEATH   78  DO  PART.  27 i 

The  sound  of  his  voice,  more  than  the  import  of  1  js  woria 
seemed  to  soothe  her,  for  her  eyes  softened ;  but  the  effect  wa& 
transitory,  and  presently  she  exclaimed,  — 

"  Mere  '  sounding  brass,  and  a  tinkling  cymbal ! '  Pretty 
words,  and  nviavial;  but  empty  as  those  polished  shells  yonder 
thab  echo  only  hollow  strains  of  the  never  silent  sea.  Ono«fy 
Dr.  Grey,  — " 

She  paused,  and  a  shiver  crept  through  her  stately  fcrm ; 
fchen  she  slowly  continued,  in  a  tone  of  indescribable  patnos, — 

"  Once  I  could  have  listened  to  your  counsel,  for  once  my 
soul  was  full  of  holy  aims,  and  my  heart  as  redolent  of  pure 
Christian  purposes  as  a  June  rose  is  of  perfume ;  but  now, — 

'  They  are  past  aa  a  slumber  that  passes, 

As  the  dew  of  a  dawn  of  old  time ; 
More  frail  than  the  shadows  on  glasses, 
More  fleet  than  a  wave  or  a  rhyme.' " 

Dr.  Grey  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  silently  led  her  to 
the  house,  and  into  the  parlor.  He  noticed  that  her  breathing 
was  quick  and  short,  and  that  she  sank  wearily  upon  th«  sofa, 
as  if  her  strength  had  well-nigh  failed  her. 

O  O 

He  untied  her  bonnet-strings  and  removed  it,  and  she  threw 
her  head  down  on  the  silken  cushion,  as  a  spent  child  might 
have  done. 

Taking  a  vial  from  his  pocket,  he  dropped  a  portion  of  tit* 
contents  into  a  wine-glass,,  and  filled  it  with  sherry  wine. 

"  Mrs  Gerome,  drink  this  for  me.      It  will  benefit  you." 

Sh^  swallowed  the  mixture,  and  remained  quiet  for  some 
seconds ;  then  a  singularly  scornful  smile  curved  her  mouth  aa 
she  said,-- 

"  You  drugged  the  wine.  Well,  so  be  it.  Nepenthe  or 
poison  are  alika  welcome,  if  they  bring  me  death,  or  even  tern 
porary  oblivion." 

Katie  carae  in  and  lighted  the  lamp,  and  Dr.  Grey  sat  besidfl 
the  sofa  and  watched  the  effect  of  his  prescription. 

Tired  at  length  of  the  sober  sea  and  dark  gloomy  grounds, 
Salome  came  back  to  the  house  and  stood  on  the  threshold  of 


272  7JfTIL  DEATH  uti  DO  PART. 

the  parlor  door,  looking  ciiriously  at  the  quiet,  silunt  grovp,  and 
at  the  pictures  on  the  walls. 

She  could  see  very  distinctly  the  beautiful  white  face  of  &« 
mistress  pressed  against  the  blue  damask  cushion,  and  clear  in 
outline  as  she  had  once  observed  it  on  the  background  of  ocean ", 
and  she  noticed  that  the  features  were  sharper  and  that  th? 
figure  was  thinner.  From  the  silvery  lamp-light  the  gray  hair 
seemed  to  have  caught  a  metallic  lustre  on  the  ripples  thai 
ebbed  back  from  the  blue-veined  temples,  and  the  woman  looked 
like  a  marble  snow-crowned  image,  draped  in  black. 

With  one  elbow  on  his  knee,  and  his  cheek  resting  in  his 
hand,  Dr.  Grey  leaned  forward,  studying  the  features  turned 
towards  him,  and  watching  her  with  almost  breathless  interest. 
lie  was  not  aware  of  Salome's  presence,  and  was  unconscious  of 
the  strained,  troubled  gaze,  that  she  fixed  upon  him. 

The  tender  love  that  filled  his  heart  looked  out  of  his  grave 
deep  eyes,  which  never  wandered  from  the  face  so  dear  to  him, 
find  moved  his  lips  in  an  inaudible  prayer  for  the  peace  and 
welfare  of  the  lonely  waif  whom  Providence  or  fate  had  brought 
into  his  path,  to  evoke  all  the  tenderness  latent  in  his  sturdy, 
manly  nature. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Salome  had  learned  the  whole 
truth  ;  and  standing  there,  she  staggered  and  grasped  the  door 
way  for  support,  wishing  that  the  heavens  and  earth  would 
pass  away  —  that  death  might  smite  her,  and  end  the  agony  that 
uover  could  be  patiently  endured. 

Recently  she  had  tutored  herself  to  bear  the  loss  of  his  love 
&ad  the  deprivation  of  his  caresses,  —  she  had  mapped  out  a 
future  in  which  her  lot  was  one  of  loneliness,  —  but  through  all 
the  network  of  coming  years  there  ran  like  a  golden  cord  bind 
ing  their  destinies  the  precious  hope  that  at  least  Dr.  Grey 
would  die  as  he  had  lived  hitherto,  —  without  giving  to  anj 
woman  the  coveted  placr  in  his  heart,  where  the  orphan  wc\Jd 
sooner  have  reigned  than  upon  the  proudest  throne  in  Europe. 

She  had  prayed  that,  with  this  assurance,  God  would  help  her 
to  be  contented  —  woxild  enable  her  to  make  her  life  useful  and 
pure,  and,  like  Dr  Grey's,  a  blessing  to  those  about  her. 


USTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  273 

It  had  never  occurrea  to  her  that  the  man  wh.jra  she  rove 
renced  above  all  things  human  or  divine.,  and  whose  exalted 
ideal  of  feminine  perfection  soared  as  far  above  her  as  the  angel  & 
in  Lebrun's  "  Stoning  of  St.  Stephen  "  soared  above  the  sinning 
multitude  below  them  —  that  the  man  whose  fastidiousness  ecm- 
jerning  womanly  character  and  deportment  seemed  exaggerated 
and  almost  morbid,  could  admire  or  defend,  much  less  lo-»e 
that  gray-haired  widow,  whom  the  world  pronounced  either  a 
lunutic,  or  a  scoffing,  misanthropic  infidel. 

The  discovery  was  so  unexpected,  so  startling,  that  it  partially 
stunned  her ;  and,  like  one  addicted  to  somnambulism,  she  softly 
crossed  the  room  and  stood  behind  Dr.  Grey's  chair. 

lie  had  taken  Mrs.  Gerome's  hand  to  examine  her  pulse,  and 
retained  it  in  his,  looking  fondly  at  the  dainty  moulding  of  the 
fingers  and  the  exquisite  whiteness  of  the  smooth  skin.  How 
long  she  stood  there  Salome  never  knew,  for  paralysis  seemed 
creeping,  numb  and  cold,  over  her  heart  and  brain. 

Dr.  Grey  saw  that  his  exhausted  patient  was  asleep,  and  knew 
that  the  opiate  he  had  administered  in  the  wine  would  not  relin 
quish  its  hold  until  morning ;  and  when  her  breathing  became 
more  quiet  and  regular  he  bent  his  head  and  softly  kissed  the 
hand  that  lay  heavily  in  his. 

Salome  covered  her  face  and  groaned ;  and  rising,  he  was 
for  the  first  time  cognizant  of  her  presence.  His  face  flushed 
deeply. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  heie  ?  " 

"  Long  enough  to  discover  why  ycu  visit  '  Solitude '  so 
often." 

He  could  not  see  her  countenance,  but  her  unnaturally  hollow 
tone  pained  and  shocked  him. 

"  You  are  very  much  fatigued,  my  dear  child,  and  as  soon  an 
I  have  given  some  directions  to  Robert,  I  will  take  you  home. 
Got  your  bonnet,  and  meet  me  at  the  door." 

He  took  a  shawl  that  was  lying  on  the  piano  and  laid  it  care 
fully  over  the  sleeper,  then  bent  one  knee  beside  the  sofa,  ami 
mutely  prayed  that  God  would  comfort  and  protect  the 
who  was  becoming  so  dear  to  him. 


274  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

With  one  long,  anxious,  tender  look  into  her  hopeless  jet  bean 
tiful  face,  he  left  the  room  and  went  in  search  of  Robert  one 
Katie.  When  he  had  given  the  requisite  directions,  and  de 
scended  the  steps,  he  found  Salome  waiting,  with  her  fingers 
grasping  the  side  of  the  buggy.  Silently  he  handed  her  in^ 
and,  as  she  sank  back  in  one  corner  and  muffled  her  face,  they 
drove  swiftly  through  the  sombre  grounds,  wV  ere  the  aged  trees 
seemed  murmuring  in  response  to  the  ceaseless  mutter  of  th« 
sea. 

"  Whom  first  we  love,  you  know,  we  seldom  wed. 

Time  rules  us  all     And  Life  indeed  is  not 
The  thing  we  planned  it  out  ere  hope  waa  dead, 
And  then  we  women  can  not  choose  our  lot." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PIAN,  you  certainly  do  not  intend  to  sit  up  again 
to-night?  Even  brass  or  whitleather  would  not  stand 
the  wear  and  tear  that  your  constitution  is  sub 
jected  to.  You  really  make  me  unhappy." 

"  My  dear  Jane,  it  would  make  you  still  more  unhappy  if 
from  mere  desire  to  promote  my  personal  ease  and  comfort,  I 
could  forget  the  solemn  responsibility  imposed  by  my  profession. 
Moreover,  my  physical  strength  is  quite  equal  to  the  tax  I  exart 
from  it." 

"  I  doubt  it,  for  we  have  all  remarked  how  pale  and  worn 
you  look." 

"My  jaded  appearance  is  attributable  to  mental  anxiety, 
rather  than  bodily  exhaustion." 

"  Tf  Mrs.  Gerome  is  so  ill  as  to  require  such  unremitting  care 
and  vigilance,  she  should  have  a  nurse,  instead  of  expecting  a 
physician  to  devote  all  his  time  and  attention  to  her.  Where  ia 
Hester  Denison?" 


UNTIL  DEATH    US  DO   PART.  27S 

"  I  Lave  placed  l.er  at  the  steam-mill  above  town,  wheie  th^ro 
I?  a  bad  case  of  s:nall-pox,  and  even  if  she  were  not  thus  on- 

;~u^d,  !  should  uoc  take  her  to  '  rfolitv.do.'  " 


f.v  nick  l;!st.  year." 

"  Mrs.  Gerome  is  morbidly  sensitive  at  all  times,  and  at  thi* 

'vmet.uve   I   sl.oul  I  be;  afraid   to  introduce  a  stranger  into  her 
sick  room." 

''  When.  people  are  so  excessively  nervous  -about  being  seen,  I 
can't  help  feeling  a  little  suspicious.  I  >o  you  suppose  that  Mrs. 
Gf.rome  loveii  licr  husband  so  much  better  than  the  majority  of 
widows  love  theirs,  that  seven  years  after  his  death  she  can't 
bear  to  be  looked  at?  I-  like  to  see  a  woman  show  due  respect 
co  her  husband's  memory,  but  1  tell  you  HIV  experience  —  or 
raf.her  my  observation  —  leads  me  to  believe  that  these  yotmg 
widows  who  make  the  greatest  parade  of  their  grief,  and  load 
themselves  with  enipe  and  bombazine  till  they  can  scarcely 
stagger  iindi-r  their  fhitings,  flounces,  and  jet-fringes,  aro  the- 
most  anxious  fo  marry  again.." 

"Stoji.  my  darling  sister!  Who  has  been  liling  your  tongue 
and  curdling  all  the  'milk  of  human  kindness'  in  your  gene 
rous  heart?  If  women  refuse  to  each  other  due  sympathy  in 
Borrow,  to  what  quarter  can  they  turn  for  that  balm  which  their 
natures  require?  I.  never  before  heard  you  utter  sentiments 
that  trenched  so  closely  upon  harsh  uncharitableness.  Your 
lips  generally  employ  only  the  silvery  language  of  leniency,  which 

[  so  mud,    love  to  hear,  but  to-day  they  adopt  the  dialect  of 

Libeldou:.      Recollect,    my    dear    sister,    that    even    the    pagan 
Athenians   would   never   build   a  temple   to    Clemency,  which 

iliey  contended  found  her  most  appropriate  altars  in  human 


"Pooh,  Ulpian.  !  You  need  not  preacJi  me  such  a  sermon, 
sa  if  J  were  a  heathen.  Facts,  when  they  happen  to  be  real 
facts,  are,  the  best  umpires  in  the  world,  and  to  their  arbitra 
ment  I  leave  my  character  for  charity.  When  Reuben  Chalmers 
<iied,  his  wife  was  so  overwhelmed  with  grief  that  she  shut  lier- 
Btlf  up  like  a  nun;  and  when  she  drove  out  for  fresh  air 


276  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART. 

two  h3avy  crapo  veils,  and  never  allowed  any  one  to  catch  * 
glimpse  of  her  countenance.  Not  even  to  church  did  she  ven- 
tur?,  until  one  morning,  at  the  end  of  two  years,  she  laid  aside 
her  weeds,  clad  herself  in  bridal  array,  was  married  in  her  owr 
parlor,  and  the  ne>  t  Sunday  made  her  first  apvearance  in 
public  ftfter  tho  death  of  her  husband,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  he; 
second  spouse.  Now,  that  is  true,- —  is  no  libel,  —  pity  it  is  not ! 
Though  'one  swallow  does  not,  make  a  summer,'  I  can't  ln'ij 
feeling  suspicious  of  very  young  and  hopelessly  inconso.  .jki 
widows,  and  am  always  reminded  of  Anastasia  Chalmers.  So 
you  see,  my  blue-eyed  preacher,  when  your  old  Janet  talks  of 
these  things,  she  is  not  caught  '  reckoning  without  her  host.' " 

"One  deplorable  instance  should  not  bias  you  against  an  en 
tire  class,  and  the  beaiitiful  constancy  of  Panthea  ought  to 
neutralize  the  example  of  a  hundred  Anastasia  Chalmers.  Is  it 
not  unfortunate  that  poor  human  nature  so  tenaciously  recol 
lects  all  the  evil  records,  and  is  so  oblivious  of  the  noble  acts 
furnished  by  history?  Do  cut  the  acquaintance  of  the  huge 
family  of  on  d'ds,  who  serve  the  community  in  much  the  same 
capacity  as  did  the  cook  of  Tantalus,  when  he  dressed  and  gar 
nished  Pelops  for  the  banquet  table.  Unluckily,  devouring 
malice  can  not  furnish  the  'ivory  shoulder'  requisite  to  mend 
its  mischief.  We  are  all  prone  to  forget  the  injunction,  '  Judge 
not,  that  ye  be  not  judged,'  and  instead  of  remembering  that 
we  are  directed  to  bear  one  another's  burdens,  we  gall  the 
fehoulclisrs  of  many,  by  increasing  the  weights  we  should  lighten. 
Junet,  don't  flay  all  the  poor  young  widows;  leave  them  to 
S^ch  measure  of  peace  as  they  may  find  among  their  weeds." 

Miss  Jane  listened  to  her  brother's  homily  "with  a  half-smile 
lurking  about  the  puckered  corners  of  her  eyes  and  mouth,  and 
putting  her  finger  in  the  button-hole  of  his  coat,  drew  bin; 
j]  )ser  to  her,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  sofa. 

;'  How  long  since  you  took  the  tribe  of  widows  under  you  • 
special  protection  ?  " 

"  Since  the  moment,  that,  owing  to  some  inexplicable  freak, 
iiy  di-ar  Janet  suffered  '  evil  communications  to  corrupt '  hei 
u  manners,'  and  absolutely  forgot  to  be  just  and  generous," 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART.  277 

He  kissed  his  sister  and  rose,  but  the  trouble*  1  look  thai 
settled  once  more  on  his  countenance  did  not  escape  her  cbser 
vstion. 

"  L7Ipia.li,  is  Mrs.  Gerome  very  ill  ?  " 

"  Vfts,  t  am  exceedingly  unhappy  about  her.     She  is  dangov- 
u  \}y  ill  "*'ith  a  low,  nervous,  fever-  that  bailies  all  my  remedies/1 

Dr.  Grey  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and  Miss  Jane 
:  ceased  her  spectacles  closer  to  Lor  nose,  and  watched  him. 

"if  the  poor  woman  leads  such  a  lonely,  miserable  life,  I 
;;)'.ouid  think  that  death  would  prove  a  blessed  release  to  her. 
Of  course  it  is  natural  and  reasonable  that  you  should  desire  tu 
aave  nil  your  patients,  but  why  are  you  so  very  unhappy  about 
her?-' 

lie  did  not  answer  immediately,  and  when  he  spoke  his  deep 
tone;  was  tremulous  with  t'ervent  feeling. 

"  Because  1  iind  that  she  is  dearer  to  mo  than  all  the  other 
women  in  the  world,  except  my  sister ;  and  her  death  would 
grieve  me  more  than  any  trial  that  has  yet  overtaken  me  — 
more  than  you  can  realize,  or  than  I  can  express." 

He  took  Miss  Jane's  face  in  his  hands,  kissed  her,  and  left  the 
room. 

Meeting  Muriel  and  Salome  in  the  hall,  the  former  seized  his 
arm,  and  exclaimed, — 

"You  shall  not  leave  home  again !  Let  me  tell  Elbert  to  put 
up  your  buggy.  If  you  continue  to  work  yourself  down,  HJS 
you  are  now  doing,  you  will  be  prematurely  old,  and  gray,  and 
decrepit.  Come  into  the  parlor,  and  let  me  play  you  to  sleep." 

"I  heartily  wish  1  could  follow  your  pleasant  prescription,  but 
duty  is  inexorable,  and  knows  no  law  but  that  of  obedience." 

"  Must  you  sit  up  to-night '?     Is  that  poor  lady  no  better  ?  " 

"  I  can  see  no  improvement,  and  must  remain  until  I  do," 

"You  are  afraid  that  she  will  die  V  " 

"I  hope  that  God  will  spare  her  life." 

His  serious  tone  awed  Muriel,  who  raised  his  hand  to  bes 
-ips.,  and  murmured, — 

"My  deai   doctor,  I  wish  I  could  help  you.     I  wish  I 
do  something  to  make  you  look  less  troubled." 


278  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  You  can  help  me,  little  one,  by  being  happy  yourself,  und  by 
aiding  Salome  in  cheering  my  sister,  while  I  am  forced  t;  spend 
no  much  time  away  from  her.  Good  evening.  Take  care  of 
yourselves  till  I  come  home." 

Humming  a  bar  of  a  Genoese  barcarole,  Muriel  ran  up  stair 
to  join   her   governess;  but  Salome  turned  and   followed  t),< 
Piaster  of  the  house  to  the  front  door. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  can  I  render  you  any  assistance  at  '  Solitude '  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  —  the  time  has  passed  when  you  might  hav« 
aided  me.  TAVO  weeks  ago,  when  I  requested  you  to  go  with 
me,  Mrs.  Geronie  was  rational  and  would  have  yielded  to  yout 
influence,  but  now  she  is  delirious  and  you  could  accomplish 
nothing.  The  servants  are  faithful  and  attentive,  and  can  be 
trusted  during  my  absence  to  execute  iny  orders." 

A  blight  flush  rose  to  Salome's  temples,  and  her  eyes  drooped 
beneath  his,  so  anxious  and  yet  so  calmly  sad. 

"  At  the  time  you  spoke  to  me  1  could  not  go,  but  now  1 
really  should  be  glad  to  accompany  you.  Will  you  take  me?" 

"No,  Salome." 

«  Your  reason,  Dr.  Grey  ?  " 

"  Is  one  whose  utterance  would  pain  you,  consequently  I  trust 
you  will  pardon  me  for  withholding  it." 

"  At  my  own  peril,  I  demand  it." 

"  The  motive  which  prompts  your  offer  precludes  the  poesi 
bility  of  my  acceptance." 

"How  dare  you  sit  in  judgment  on  my  motives?  ¥ou  who 
prate  and  homilixe  of  charity !  charity !  and  who  quote  the 
'golden  rule'  solely  for  the  edification  and  guidance,  of  thosf: 
around  you.  Example  is  more  potent  than  precept,  and  we  are 
creatures  of  imitation.  Suppose  I  should  question  the  disin 
terestedness  of  your  motives  in  allowing  one  patient  to 
'monopolize  your  attention  to  the  detriment  of  the  remainder? 
Of  course  you  would  be  shocked  and  think  me  presumptuous, 
for  one's  sins  and  follies  often  play  hide  and  seek,  aisd  sometimes 
we  insult  our  own  pet  faxilfc  when  we  find  it  housed  in  some 
other  piece  of  flesh." 

"Good  night,  Salome.      I  shall  endeavor  to   forget  al]    ibis, 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  279 

siiicr  \  am  too  sincerely  your  friend  to  desire  to  set  yuur  hasty 
word?:  in  the  storehon.se  of  memory." 

He  looked  down  pityingly,  sorrowfully,  into  her  angry  impe 
rioiii*  eves,  and  sudden  shame  smote  her,  making  her  cheeks 
glow  and  tingle  as  if  from  the  stroke  of  an  open  hand. 

"Dr.  Grey,  wait  one  moment!  Let  me  say  something,  that, 
vj  Ul  sLow,  —  that  will  —  " 

"  Only  make  matters  worse.  No,  Salome,  I  have  little  time 
for  trilling,  still  less  for  recrimination,  none  at  all  for  di& 
simulation ;  and,  in  your  present  mood,  the  least  we  can  say 
will  prove  the  most  powerful  for  good." 

He  went  down  to  his  ouggy,  but  stopped  and  reflected;  and 
fearing  that  he  might  have  been  too  harsh,  he  turned  and 
approached  her,  as  she  stood  leaning  against  one  of  the  columns 
of  the  gallery. 

"  Do  not  think  me  rude.  I  am  not  less  your  friend  than  for 
merly,  though  I  am  anxious,  and  doubtless  appear  preoccupied. 
Let  us  shake  hands  in  peace." 

He  extended  his  own,  but  the  girl  stood  motionless,  and  the 
remorseful  anguish  and  humiliation  of  her  uplifted  face  touched 
his  heart. 

"Dr.  Grey,  if  you  really  forgive  and  forget,  prove  it  bj 
taking  me  to  '  Solitude.'  " 

"  Do  not  ask  what  you  well  know  I  have  quite  determined  ft 
w  best  that  I  should  riot  grant." 

The  spark  leaped  up  lurid  as  ever,  in  her  dilating  eyes. 

"  Yon  take  this  method  to  punish  me  for  my  refusal  to 
fr.r-jT.lv  v  ith  your  wishes  a  fortnight  since?" 

**  \  havo  neither  the  right  nor  inclination  ^o  punish  you  in 
ttry  repent,  and  you  must  pardon  my  inability  to  accede  tc  a 
ronv.est  which  my  judgment  does  not  approve.  Good-by." 

IT--  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  left  her;  and  while  slit 
y.tood  irresolute  and  disappointed,  a  servant  summoneu  her  to 
!'Ti.';s  Jane's  presence. 

"fan  J  do  anything  for  you?"  asked  the  orphan,  observing 
r.Vte  r-!oud  on  the  old  lady's  brow. 

"  Yes,  dear ;  eit  down  here  and  talk  to  me.     I  feel  lonely, 


280  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

now  that  Ulpian  is  away  so  constantly.  He  hteems  veiy  uneasy 
about  that  woman  at '  Solitude,'  and  I  never  saw  him  manifest  so 
much  anxiety  about  any  one.  By  the  by,  Salome,  tell  me 
feomething  concerning  her." 

"  I  have  already  t/^<l  vou  all  1  Know  of  her." 

"  Wherein  consists  hex-  attractiveness  ?  " 

"  Who  said  she  was  attractive  ?  She  is  handsome,  and  Iher* 
is  something  peculiar  and  startling  about  her,  but  she  is  by  ixo 
means  a  beauty.  I  have  heard  Dr.  Grey  say  that  she  possessed 
remarkable  talent,  but  I  have  been  favored  with  no  exhibition 
of  it.  Why  do  you  not  question  your  brother  ?  Doubtless  it 
would  afford  him  much  pleasure  to  furnish  an  inventory  of  her 
charms  and  accomplishments,  and  dilate  upon  them  ad  libitum" 

"  What  makes  you  so  savage  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  there  happens  to  be  a  touch  of  the  wild  beast 
in  my  nature,  and  I  have  not  a  doubt  that  if  the  doctrine  of 
metempsychosis  be  true,  I  was  a  tawny  dappled  leopardess  or  a 
green-eyed  cougar  in  the  last  stage  of  my  existence.  Miss  Jane, 
sometimes  I  feel  as  if  it  would  be  a  luxury  —  a  relief — to 
crunch  and  strangle  something  or  somebody,  —  which  is  not  an 
approved  trait  of  orthodox  Christian  character,  to  say  nothing 
i>f  meek  gentility  and  lady-like  refinement." 

She  laughed  with  a  degree  of  indescribable  scorn  and  bitter 
ness  that  was  pitiable  indeed  in  one  so  young. 

"  There  is  an  evil  fit  on  Saul." 

"  Yes ;  and  you  are  neither  my  harp  nor  my  David." 

"  Does  my  little  girl  expect  to  find  a  '  cunning  player,'  who 
will  charm  away  all  the  barbarous  notions  that  occasionally  lead 
her  astray,  and  tempt  her  to  wickedness  ?  " 

"  Verily,  —  no.  The  son  of  Jesse  has  forsaken  his  own  house 
hold,  and  made  unto  himself  an  idol  elsewhere ;  and  I-  —  Saul  — 
surrender  to  Asmodeus." 

Miss  Jane  laid  her  hand  01*  the  girl's  arm,  and  said,  in  » 
hesitating,  troubled  manner, — 

"  Has  Ulpian  told  you  ?  " 

•*  Why  should  h«  tell  me  ?  My  eyes  sometimes  take  pity  OB 
my  ears,  —  and  seeing  very  distinctly,  save  the  necessity  of 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  281 

aearing.  My  vision  is  v,<iite  as  keen  now  as  when  in  my  anterior 
existence,  I  crouched  in  jungles,  watching  for  lay  prey.  ()h) 
Miss  Jane !  if  you  oonlct  look  here,  and  know  all  taat  I  have 
suffered  during  the  past  three  weeks,  you  would  not  wonder  that 
the  tiger  element  within  me  swallows  up  every  other  feeling." 

She  struck  her  hand  heavily  upon  her  heart,  and  the  eld  lady 
<?M  frightened  and  distressed  by  the  glitter  of  the  eyes  and  tht> 
u'ation.  of  the  slender  nostrils. 

"  When  1  came  in,  1  knew  from  your  countenance  that  you 
had  heard  something  which  you  desired  to  prepare  me  for, — 
which  you  intended  to  break  gently  to  me.  But  your  kindness 
is  unavailing.  The  truth  crashed  in  on  my  heart  without  pre 
monition;  and  1  saw,  and  understood,  and  accepted  the  inevita 
ble;  and  since  then,  —  ah,  my  God!  since  then — " 

Her  head  drooped  upon  her  bosom,  and  a  groan  concluded 
the  sentence. 

"  Perhaps  Ulpian  only  pities  the  poor  woman's  desolation,  and 
will  lose  Ids  interest  in  her  when  she  recovers  her  health.  You 
know  how  tenderly  ho  sympathizes  witli  all  who  suffer,  and  I 
dare  say  it  is  more  compassion  than  love." 

''  What  hypocrites  wo  often  are,  in  our  desire  to  comfort 
those  whom  we  see  in  agony  !  Miss  Jane,  your  kind  heart  ia 
holding  a  hand  over  the  mouth  of  conscience,  to  smother  its  cries 
and  protests  while  you  ulter  things  in  which  you  know  there  ia 
no  truth.  You  mean  well;  but  you  <;ught  to  know  better  iliac 
to  expect  to  deceive  me.  I  understand  the  difference  between 
love  and  compassion,  and  so  do  you  ;  and  Dr.  Crey  has  not  kept 
jhe  truth  from  you.  He  lias  given  his  heart  to  that  gray-haired, 
<rrr.v-eyed  woman,  —  and  if  shy  lives,  he  will  marry  her;  and 
ilit'ii,  if  there  were  twenty  oceans,  1  should  want  them  all 
fo  roll  between  us.  1  tril  you  now,  1  can  not  and  will  not  stay 
Hen;  to  see  the  ..lay  that  makes  that  pale  gray  phantom  his  wife. 
1  should  go  mad,  and  do  something  that  might  add  new  horrors 
to  that  doomed  and  abhorred '  Solitude,'  that  has,  become  Dr. 
Grey's  Mecca.  1  could  live  without  his  love,  but  1  can  not  stand 
tazoely  by  and  see  him  lavish  it  on  another.  Some  women, — 
such,  for  instance,  as  we  read  of  in  novels,  weul  1  meekly  endure 
24* 


JJ82  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAKT. 

this  trial,  as  one  appointed  by  Heaven  to  wean  then,,  from  earth 
would  fold  their  hands,  and  grow  devout,  and  romantically  thin 
and  wan,  —  and  get  sweet,  patient,  martyr  expressions  about  their 
unkissed  lips;  but  I  am  in  no  respect  a  mouel  heroine,  and 
it  will  prove  safer  for  us  all  if  I  am  far  away  when  Dr.  Groj 
brings  his  bride  to  receive  your  sisterly  embrace.  If  you  an 
lonely,  send  for  Muriel  and  Miss  Dexter,  and  let  them  entertain 
you.  Just  now,  I  am  not  fit  company  for  any  but  the  dwellers 
in  Padalon ;  so  let  me  go  away  where  I  can  be  quiet." 

"  Stay,  Salome  !     Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"To  walk." 

The  orphan  disengaged  her  dress  from  Miss  Jane's  fingers, 
which  had  clutched  its  folds  to  detain  her,  and  made  her  escape 
just  as  Muriel  tapped  at  the  door. 

During  the  three  weeks  that  had  elapsed  since  Elsie's  death, 
Mrs.  Gerome  had  not  left  the  house,  and  the  third  day  after  the 
funeral  she  laid  her  head  down  on  the  pillow  from  which  it 
seemed  probable  she  would  never  again  lift  it. 

A  low  steady  fever  seized  her,  and  at  length  her  brain  became 
BO  seriously  affected  that  all  hope  of  recovery  appeared  futile 
and  delusive.  In  the  early  stages  of  her  illness,  Dr.  Gi'ey 
requested  Salome  to  assist  him  in  nursing  her,  but  the  girl  dared 
not  trust  herself  to  witness  the  manifestations  of  an  affection 
that  nearly  maddened  her,  and  had  almost  rudely  refused 
compliance. 

As  the  days  wore  drearily  on,  and  Dr.  Grey's  haggard,  anxious 
countenance,  told  her  that  her  rival  was  indeed  upon  the  brink 
of  dissolution,  a  wild  hope  whispered  that  perhaps  she  might  be 
spared  the  fierce  ordeal  she  so  much  dreaded;  that  if  Mrs. 
Gerome  died,  the  future  might  brighten,  —  life  would  be  en 
durable.  In  her  wonted  impulsive  manner,  the  girl  had  thrown 
herself  on  her  knees,  and  passionately  prayed  the  Almighty  to 
remove  from  earth  the  one  woman  who  proved  an  obstacle  to  all 
her  hopes  of  peace  and  contentment. 

She  did  not  pause  to  inquire  whether  her  petition  was  not  an 
insult  to  Him  who  alone  could  grant  it ;  she  neither  analyzed, 
nor  felt  self-rebuked  for  her  sinful  emotions  and  intense  hatred 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  P^LRT.  283 

of  the  sick  woman,  —  but  vowed  repeatedly  that  she  \vould  lead 
a  purer,  holier  life,  if  God  would  only  interpose  and  prevent 
Dr.  Grey  from  becoming  the  husband  of  any  one. 

She  had  n~>  faith  m  the  superior  wisdom  of  her  Maker,  and 
would  nou  wait  patiently  for  the  developments  of  His  divim 
will  toward  her;  but  chose  her  own  destiny,  and  demanded 
*hat  Omnipotence  should  become  an  ally  for  its  accomplishment. 
Like  many  who  are  less  honest  in  confessing  their  faith,  this 
girl  professed  allegiance  to  her  Creator  only  so  long  as  He  ap 
peared  a  coadjutor  in  her  schemes;  and,  when  thwarted  and 
disappointed,  fierce  rebellion  broke  out  in  her  heart,  and  annulled 
her  oaths  of  fealty  and  obedience. 

Dr.  Grey  was  not  ignorant  of  the  emotions  that  swayed  and 
controlled  her  conduct,  and  when  she  declared  herself  ready  to 
attend  the  invalid,  he  was  thoroughly  cognizant  of  the  fact  that 
she  longed  to  witness  the  death  which  she  deemed  impending; 
and  he  could  not  consent  to  son  her  eager  eyes  watching  the 
feeble  breathing  of  the  woman  whom  he  now  loved  so  fervently. 

While  he  believed  that  in  most  matters  Salome  would  not 
deceive  him,  lie  realized  that  in  one  of  her  passionate  moods  of 
jealous  hate,  irremediable  mischief  might  result,  and  prudently 
resolved  to  keep  her  beyond  the  pale  of  temptation. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  he  reached  the  secluded  house  where 
he  had  passed  so  many  days  and  nights  of  Anxiety,  and  wont 
into  the  quiet  room  in  which  only  a  dim  light  was  permitted  to 
burn.  K;itio  WHS  sitting  near  the  bed,  but  ro»f<  at  his  approaclu 
and  softly  withdrew. 

Emaciated  and  ghastly,  save  where  two  scarlet  spots  butmtJ 
on  the  hollow  cheeks,  31  rs.  ('Jerome  lay,  with  ]>>r  wasted  an-:;. 
thrown  over  her  head,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  v;>.cancy.  Evn 
<vl;en  d:  liriuiu  was  at  its  height  she  yielded  to  the  physician' 
'voico  a] id  touch,  like-  some,  wild  creature  \v!io  recognizes  no 
control  save  that  of  its  keopc  r;  and  from  his  hand  alone  would 
Vhe  hike  Cue  medicines  administered. 

Whether  the  influence  \vas=  merely  magnetic,  hu  (lid  not 
L';..jv;iro,  but  felt  comforted  by  the  assurance  that  lux  presets  oa 
hud  power  to  tranquillizp  h^r. 


284  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Now,  as  he  drew  her  arms  down  from  the  pillow,  and  took  her 
thin  hot  hand  in  his  cool  palms,  a  shadowy  smile  stole  over  hei 
feattires,  and  she  fixed  her  eyes  intently  on  his. 

"I  knew  you  would  protect  me  from  him." 
'  Protect  you  from  whom  ?  " 

"From  Maurice.  He  is  hiding  yonder,  —  behind  the  winder 
oxvrtain.." 

She  pointed  across  the  room,  and  a  scowl  darkened  her  couu^ 
x-;iiance. 

"  You  have  only  bee,n  dreaming." 

"  No,  I  am  awake  ;  and  if  you  look  behind  the  curtain  you  will 
find  him.  His  eyes  are  bimong  my  face." 

Willing  to  dispel  this  fantasy,  Dr.  Grey  went  to  the  window 
and,  drawing  aside  the  lace  drapery,  showed  her  the  vacant 
recess. 

"Ah,  he  has  escaped!  Well,  perhaps  it  is  better  so,  and 
there  will  be  no  blood  shed.  Let  him  go  back  to  Edith, — 
4  golden-haired  Edith  Dexter,'  —  and  live  out  the  remnant  of 
his  days.  He  came  hoping  to  find  me  dead,  but  I  am  not  as 
accommodating  now  as  formerly.  Where  are  those  violets? 
Tell  Elsie  to  bring  tho  jars  in,  where  I  can  smell  them." 

He  took  a  bunch  of  the  fragrant  flowers  from  his  coat  pocket, 
and  put  them  in  her  hand,  for  during  her  illness  she  was  never 
satisfied  unless  there  was  a  bouquet  near  her ;  and  now,  hat  ing 
feebly  smelled  them,  her  eyes  closed. 

More  than  once  she  had  mentioned  the  name  of  Edith  Dexter, 
alv/ays  coupling  it  with  that  of  Maurice,  who  she  evidently 
believed  was  lurking  with  evil  purposes  around  her  home; 
aiii  Dr.  Grey  was  sorely  perplexed  to  follow  the  thread  that 
now  und  then  appeared,  but  failed  to  guide  him  to  any  satis- 
'ijictury  solution  of  the  mystery.  He  knew  that  since  she  made 
•l  Solitude  "  her  place  of  residence,  Mrs.  Gerome  had  never  moi 
Muriel's  governess,  and  he  conjectured  that  she  had  eithei 
known  her  in  earlier  years  or  now  alluded  to  another  person 
bearing  the  same  name.  Miss  Dexter  was  very  fair,  with  a 
profusion  of  light  yellow  hair,  find,  suited  in  all  respect**  the 
incoherent  description  that  fell  from  the  sick  woman's  lips. 


UNTIL    DEATH   US  DO  PART.  285 

While  at  home  for  a  short  time  that  afternoon,  Dr.  Grey  ha  a 
spoken  of  the  dangerous  condition  of  his  patient,  and  tsked  the 
governess  if  she  had  ever  seen,  or  known  Mrs.  Gerome.      With 
cxut  hesitation,  Edith  Dexter  quietly  replied  in  the  negative. 

Formerly  he  had  indulged  little  curiosity  with  reference  tc 
ibo  widow's  history,  but  since  she  had  become  endeared  to  hi  MI 
h$  was  conscious  of  an  earnest  desire  tc  possess  himself  o^  »* 
/ecofd  of  all  that  had  so  darkened  and  chilled  the  life  of  "-.)>< 
only  woman  he  had  ever  loved. 

Once  she  had  been  merely  an  interesting  psychological  puzzle, 
and  in  some  degree  a  physiological  anomaly ;  Imt  from  the  day 
of  Elsie's  death,  his  heart  had  yielded  more  and  more  to  the 
strange  fascination  she  exerted  over  him;  and  now,  as  he  sat 
looking  into  her  face,  so  mournfully  sharpened  and  blanched 
oy  disease,  he  acknowledged  to  his  own  soul  that  if  she  should 
die  the  brightest  and  dearest  hopes  that  ever  gladdened  his  life 
would  be  buried  in  her  grave. 

Thoroughly  convinced  that  his  happiness  depended  on  her 
recovery,  he  prayed  continually  that  if  consistent  with  God's 
will,  He  would  spare  her  to  him,  and  f,ave  him  from  the 
anguish  of  a  lonely  life,  which  her  love  might  bless  and 
brighten. 

But  above  the  petition,  —  above  all  the  strife  of  human  love, 
and  hope,  and  fear, — rose  silvery  clear,  "Nevertheless.  Father, 
not  niy  will,  but  Thine." 

During  his  long  vigils  he  had  allowed  imagination  to  paint 
beautiful  pictures  of  the  To-Come,  wherein  shone  the  figure  of 
a  lovely  wife  whose  heart  was  divided  only  between  God  and 
her  husband,  —  whose  life  was  consecrated  first  to  Christ, 
secondly  to  promoting  the  happiness  of  the  man  who  loved  her 
so  truly. 

The  apprehension  of  losing  her  was  rendered  still  more  acute 
by  the  reflection  that  her  soul  was  not  prepared  for  its  exit  from 
the  realm  of  probation,  and  the  thought  of  a  separation  that 
would  extend  through  endless  aeons,  was  Tell-nigh  intole 
rable. 

If  she  survived,  this  attack,  he  believed   that  hie   influnaot 


286  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART. 

would  redeem  and  sanctify  her  life ;  if  she  died,  woold  God 
have  mercy  on  her  wretched  soul  ? 

His  faith  in  Providence  was  no  jagged,  c  jive  ring  reed,  but  a 
strong,  staunch,  firm  staff  that  had  never  vet  failed  him,  an^ 
in  this  hour  of  severe  trial  he  leaned  his  aching  heart  corifi 
d»ntly  and  calmly  upon  it. 

That  some  mysterious  circumstances  veiled  the  earlier  portion 
of  Mrs.  Gerome's  life,  he  had  inferred  from  Elsie's  promise  of 
confidence,  and  since  death  denied  her  the  desired  revelation, 
Ve  had  put  imagination  upon  the  rack,  in  order  to  solve  the 
riddle. 

What  could  the  old  nurse  wish  to  tell  him,  that  she  was 
unwilling  to  divulge  until  her  latest  breath  ?  Could  the  stain 
of  crime  cling  to  that  pale  face  011  the  pillow,  or  to  those 
white  hands  that  rested  so  helplessly  in  his  ?  Had  she  soiled 
her  life  by  any  deed  that  would  bring  a  blush  to  those  thin 
sunken  cheeks,  or  a  flush  of  shame  to  the  brow  of  the  man 
who  loved  her?  Now  bending  fondly  over  her,  the  language 
of  his  heart  was,  — 

"  Let  her  dead  past  bury  its  dead  !  Let  the  by-gone  be  what 
it  may,  —  come  sorrow,  come  humiliation,  but  I  will  dauntless!  y 
shield  her  with  my  name,  defend  her  with  my  strong  arm,  up 
hold  her  by  my  honor,  save  her  soul  by  my  prayers,  comfort 
and  gladden  her  heart  with  my  deathless  love." 

He  was  well  aware  that  this  night  must  decide  W*  fate, — 
that  her  feeble  frame  could  not  much  longer  struggle  with  the 
diseaso  that  had  almost  vanquished  if;,  —  and  leaning  Hs  fore 
head  against  her  hand,  he  silently  prayed  that  God  vouJd 
speedily  restore  her  to  health,  or  give  him  additional  grs  x»  to 
bear  the  bitter  bereavement. 

She  slept  more  quietly  than  she  had  been  able  to  do  for  som* 
days,  and  Dr.  Grey  sent  for  Robert,  who  was  pacing  the  walk 
that  led  to  the  sta,bles.  They  sat  down  together  on  the  steps  at 
the  rear  of  the  house,  and  the  gardener  asked  in  a  frightened, 
brjsky  tone,  — 

"  la  there  bad  news  ?  " 

"  I  see  liitle  change  since  noon,  except  tfea*  she  is  more  quiet 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  287 

which  is  certainly  favorable ;  but  she  is  so  very  ill  that  I 
fell  :ught  it  best  to  consult  you  about  several  matters.  Do  yea 
know  whether  she  has  made  a  will?  " 

"  No,  sir.     How  should  I  know  it,  even  if  she  had?  " 

"Who  is  her  agent?  " 

.Robert  hesitated,  and  pretended  to  be  busy  filling  and  light 
ing  his  pipe. 

"  Maclean,  .1  have  no  desire  to  pry  into  Mrs.  Gerome's  affairs, 
bat  it  is  necessary  that  those  who  direct  or  control  her  estate 
ghoul d  be  apprised  of  her  condition.  It  is  supposed  that  her 
fortune  is  ample,  and  her  heirs  should  be  informed  of  her 
illness." 

"  She  has  no  heirs,  except  —  " 

He  paused,  and  after  a  few  seconds  exclaimed,  — 

"  Don't  ask  me !  All  I  know  is  that  I  heard  her  say  she 
intended  to  leave  her  fortune  to  poor  painters." 

"To  whom  shall  I  write,  or  rather  telegraph?  Where  did 
she  live  before  she  came  to  '  Solitude '  ?  Who  were  her 
friends  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Siinonton,  of  New  York,  is  her  lawyer  and  agent.  Two 
letters  have  come  from  him  since  she  has  been  sick.  Of  course 
I  did  not  open  them,  but  I  know  his  handwriting.  They  are 
behind  the  clock  in  the  back  parlor." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  telegraph  him  at  once  ?  " 

"What  good  could  he  do?  Better  send  for  the  minister, 
and  have  her  baptized.  Oh !  but  this  is  truly  a  world  of 
trouble,  and  I  almost  wish  I  was  safely  out  of  it." 

"  If  she  were  conscious,  she  would  not  submit  to  baptism ; 
and  it  would  not  be  right  to  take  advantage  of  her  delirium  and 
force  a  ceremony  to  which  she  is  opposed." 

"  Not  even,  sir,  to  save  her  soul  V  " 

"  Her  soul  can  not  be  affected  by  the  aetions  of  others  uiileea 
her  will  cooperates,  which  is  impossible  in  her  present  condi 
tion,  Robert,  after  your  mother  was  partially  paralyzed,  she 
waid  that  she  desired  to  confide  something  to  me  just  before 
her  death,  and  intimated  that  it  referred  to  Mrs.  Gerome.  She 
wished  me  to  befriend  her  mistress,  and  felt  that  I  ought  to 


2S8  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

knew  thf  particulars  of  her  early  history.  Unfortunately,  Elds 
was  speechless  when  I  arrived,  and  could  not  tell  me  what  she 
had  intended  to  acquaint  me  with.  I  mention  this  fact  to 
assure  you  that  if  your  mother  could  trust  me,  you  need  not 
<r-?£ard  me  so  suspiciously." 

**Dr.  Grey,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  are  very  welcome  to 
.-sf^yy  thought  in  my  head  and  feeling  in  my  heart;  but  wherr 
J*  bouohes  my  mistress  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I  will  not  den^ 
that  I  know  more  than  you  do,  but  when  my  poor  mother  told 
me,  teb*  held  my  hand  on  the  Bible  and  made  me  swear  a  solenm 
Ditli  that  what  she  told  me  should  never  pass  my  lips  to  any 
man,  woman,  or  child.  So  you  must  not  blame  me,  sir." 

"  Certainly  not,  Robert.  But  if  she  has  any  friends  it  is 
your  duty  to  send  for  them  at  once." 

Dr.  Grey  rose  and  went  into  the  library,  where  for  some  mo 
ments  he  walked  to  and  fro,  pei*plexed  and  grieved.  As  his  eye 
rested  on  the  escritoire,  he  recollected  the  key  which  he  had 
kept  in  his  pocket  since  the  hour  that  he  picked  it  up  from  the 
carpet. 

Doubtless  a  few  minutes'  search  in  its  drawers  and  casket 
would  place  him  in  possession  of  the  facts  which  Elsie  wished 
to  confide;  but  notwithstanding  the  circumstances  that  might 
almost  have  j  ustiiied  an  investigation,  his  delicate  sense  of  honor 
forbade  the  thought.  Taking  the  letters  from  the  mantelpiece, 
he  turned  them  to  the  lamp-light. 

Mrs.  Agla  G-erome, 

Care  of  Robert  JLTaclean^ 
Box  20. 

They  were  post-marked  New  York,  and  from  the  size  and 
appearance  of  the  envelopes  he  suspected  that  they  containec; 
legal  documents.  Perhaps  one  of  them  might  prove  a  will 
awaiting  signature  and  witnesses.  Dr.  Grey  carried  them  into 
the  room  where  his  patient  still  slept,  and  placed  them  on  the 
dressing-table.  Accidentally  his  glance  fell  on  a  large  worn 
Bible  that  lay  contiguous,  ard  brightening  the  light,  he  opened 
uhe  volume,  and  tu  med  to  the  record  of  births. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART  289 

"Vashti  Evelyn,  born  June  lOtli,  18—. 

"Henderson  Flewollyn,  born  April  17th,  18 — . 

"Vashti  Flewellyn,  born  January  30th,  18—." 

On  the  marriage  record  he  found,  - — • 

"Married,  July  1st,  18 — ,  Vashti  Evelyn  to  Henderson 
tflswellyn. 

"  Married,  September  8th,  1 8 — ,  Evelyn  Flewellyn  to  Maurice 
Carlyle." 

The  only  deaths  recorded  were  those  of  Henderson  and  Vashti 
Flewellyn. 

"Whatever  the  mystery  might  be,  Dr.  Grey  resolved  to  pursue 
the  subject  no  further;  but  wait  patiently  and  learn  all  from  the 
beautiful  lips  of  the  white-faced  sphinx,  who  alone  possessed 
the  right  to  unseal  the  record  of  her  blighted  life. 

"Who  might  have  been  —  ah,  what,  I  dare  not  think ! 

We  all  are  changed.     God  judges  for  us  best. 
God  help  us  do  our  duty,  aud  not  shrink, 
And  trust  in  heaven  humbly  for  the  reek" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

profound  stillness  that  pervades  a  room  where  life 
and  death  grapple  for  mastery,  invites  and  aids  that 
ftSS&aj  calm,  inexorable  introspection,  which  Gotama  Buddha 
prescribes  as  an  almost  unerring  p«th  to  the  attainment  of  peace; 
said,  in  the  solemn  silence  of  his  last  and  memorable  vigil,  Dr. 
drey  brought  his  heart  into  complete  unmurmuring  subjection 
to  the  Divine  will.  A  soi-disant  "  resignation "  that  draws 
honied  lips  to  the  throne  of  grace,  leaving  a  heart  of  gall  in  the 
camp  of  sedition,  could  find  no  harbor  in  his  uncompromisingly 
honest  nature ;  and  though  the  struggle  was  severe,  he  felt 
that  faith  in  Eternal  wisdom  and  mercy  had  triumphed  over 
merely  human  alfection  and  earthly  hopes,  and  his  strong  sou] 


290  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

chanted  to  itself  the  comforting  strains  of  Lampert's  "Trust 
Song." 

NJ  mere  gala  barge,  gay  with  paint  and  gaudy  with  pennons, 
was  hi<t  religion ;  no  fair  summer-day  toy  bearing  him  lightly 
across  the  sun-kissed,  breeze-dimpled  sea  of  prosperity  and  hap 
piness,  and  frail  as  the  foam  that  draped  its  prow  with  lace  j 
but  a  staunch,  trim,  steady,  unpretending  bark,  that  with 
rnfaltering  faith  at  the  helm,  rode  firmly  all  the  billows  of 
adversity,  and  steered  \inerringly  harborvvard,  through  howling 
tempests  and  impenetrable  gloom.  Human  friendships  and 
sympathy  he  considered  unstable  and  treacherous  as  Peter, 
when  he  shrank  from  his  Lord;  but  Christian  trust  was  one 
of  the  silver-tongued  angels  of  God,  ringing  chimes  of  patience 
and  peace,  far  above  the  din  of  wailing,  bleeding  hearts,  and  the 
fierce  flames  of  flesh  martyrdom. 

One  o'clock  found  Dr.  Grey  sitting  near  the  pillow,  vhere  fa* 
five  hours  Mrs.  Gerome  had  slept  as  quietly  as  a  tired  child 
The  fever-glow  had  burned  itself  out,  and  left  an  ashen  hue  or 
the  lips  and  cheeks. 

Wishing  to  arouse  her,  he  spoke  to  her  several  times  and 
raised  her  head,  but  though  she  drank  the  powerful  stimulant 
he  held  to  her  mouth,  her  heavy  eyelids  were  not  lifted,  and 
when  he  smoothed  the  pillow  and  laid  her  comfortably  upon  it, 
she  slumbered  once  more. 

At  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  his  keen  yellow  eyes  fastened 
on  his  mistress,  crouched  the  greyhound,  his  silky  head  on  his 
paws ;  and  on  a  pallet  in  one  corner  of  tke  room  slept  Katie, 
ready  to  render  any  assistance  that  might  be  required. 

The  apartment  was  elegantly  furnished,  and  green  and  gold 
tinted  all  its  appointments.  On  an  Egyptian  marble  table 
stood  a  work-box  curiously  inlaid  with  malachite  and  richly 
gilded,  and  there  lay  some  withered  flowers,  a  small  thimble, 
and  a  pair  of  scissors  with  mother-of-pearl  handles.  Around 
the  walls  hung  a  number  of  paintings,  which,  with  one  excep 
tion,  were  landscapes  or  ocean- views ;  and  as  Dr.  Grey  sa  \ 
watching  the  shimmer  of  lamp-light  on  their  carved  frames  «id 
rarnished  surfaces,  they  seemed  to  furnish  images  of 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  291 

4*  Green  glaring  glaciers,  purple  clouds  of  pine, 
White  walls  of  ever- roaring  cataracts; 
Blue  thunder  drifting  over  thirsty  tracts, 
Rose-latticed  casements,  lone  in  summer  lands,  — 
Some  witch's  bower ;   pale  sailors  on  the  marge 
Of  magic  seas,  in  an  enchanted  barge 
Stranded  at  sunset,  upon  jewelled  Bauds. 
Some  cup  of  dim  hills,  where  a  white  moon  lies, 
Droj)t  out  of  weary  skies  without  a  breath, 
In  a  great  pool ;  a  slumb'rous  vale  beneath, 
And  blue  damps  prickling  into  white  fire-flies. " 

Nc  sweet-lipped,  low-browed  Madonnas,  110  rapt  Ceciliaa,  ne 
loly  Johns  nor  meek  Stephens,  no  reeling  Satyrs  nor  vine 
jlad  ^Bacchantes  relieved  tlie  eye,  weary  of  mountain  gbylls 
red-ribbed  deserts,  and  stormy  surfage. 

One  long  narrow  picture  bullied  interpretation,  and  excitec 
speculations  tliat  served  in  some  degree  to  divert  tbe  sad  current 
of  the  physician's  thoughts. 

It  was  a  dreary  plain,  dotted  with,  the  "fallen  cromlechs  of 
Stonehenge,"  and  in  front  of  the  desecrated  stone  altars  stood  a 
veiled  woman,  with  her  hands  clasped  over  a  silver  crescent- 
curved  knife,  ami  her  bare  feet  resting  on  oaken  cliaplets  and 
mistletoe  boughs,  starred  and  fringed  with  snowy  llowers. 
Under  the  dexterously  painted  gau/e  that  shrouded  the  face, 
the  outline  of  the  features  was  distinctly  traceable,  and  behind 
the  film,  —  large,  oracular,  yet  mournful  eyes,  burned  like 
setting  stars,  seen  through  magnifying  vapors  that  wreathe  the 
horizon. 

It  was  a  solemn,  desolate,  melancholy  picture,  relieved  by  no 
l.'Jih  of  color,  — gray  plain,  gray  distance,  gray  sky,  gray  templo 
.uninli,  and  that  ghostly  white  woman,  ga/ing  grimly  down  ai 
the  {.'ray-haired  sufierer  on  the  low  bed  beneath  her. 

Under  some  circumstances,  certain,  pictures  seem  basilisk- 
eyed,  riveting  a  ga/o  that  would  gladly  seek  more  agreeable 
subjects,  and  it  chanced  that  Dr.  (I  rev  found  a  pamiul  fascina 
tion  in  this  piece  of  canvas  that  hung  immediately  in  front  of 
him.  Wherein  consisted  the  magnetism  that  so  powerfully 
attracted  him,  he  coulu  not  decide,  but  several  times  win  n  '-^i? 


292  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO    ?ABT. 

win  I  blew  the  scalloped  edge  c  f  the  lace  curtain  between  th« 
lamp  and  the  picture,  and  threw  a  dim  wavering  shadow  ovei 
the  figure  on  the  wall,  he  almost  expected  to  see  the  veil  float 
away  from  the  stony  face,  and  reveal  what  the  artist  had 
ftdroitly  shrouded.  Now  it  looked  a  doomed  "  Norma,"  and 
vncr  the  Nemesis  of  a  dishonored  faneless  faith,  that  was  born 
zjuong  Magi,  and  had  tutored  Pythagora  » ;  and  finally  Dr.  Grey 
rose  an  ;l  turned  away  to  escape  its  spectral  spell. 

Waking  Katie,  he  charged  her  to  call  him  if  any  change 
occurred  in  his  patient,  and  went  to  the  front  of  the  house  for 
a  breath  of  fresh  air. 

Narcissus-like,  a  three-quarter  moon  was  staring  down  at  her 
own  image,  rocked  on  the  bosom  of  the  sea,  while  dim  stars 
printed  silver  photographs  on  the  deep  blue  beneath  them,  — 

"And  the  hush  of  earth  and  air 
Seemed  the  pause  before  a  prayer." 

The  wind  that  had  blown  steadily  for  two  days  past  from  the 
south-east,  had  gone  down  into  some  ocean  lair;  but  the  sullen 
element  refused  to  forget  its  late  scourging,  and  occasionally  a 
long  swelling  billow  dashed  itself  into  froth  against  the  stone 
piers  of  the  boa.t-house,  and  the  cliffs  which  stood  like  a  phan 
tom  fleet  along  the  southern  bend  of  the  beach,  were  fringed 
with  a  white  girdle  of  incessant  breakers. 

Far  out  from  shore  the  rolling  mass  of  water  was  darkly  blue, 
but  now  aud  then  a  wave  broke  over  its  neighbor,  and  in  the 
distance  the  foam  flashed  under  moonshine  like  some  recon 
noitring  Siren-face,  peeping  landward  for  fresh  victims ;  or  as 
the  samite-clad  arm  that  Arthur  and  Sir  Bedivere  saw  rise 
above  the  meer  to  receive  Excalibar. 

Following  the  beckoning  cf  those  snowy  hands,  and  listening 
«y  the  low  musical  monologue  that  sea  uttered  to  shore,  Dr. 
Grey  started  in  the  direction  of  the  terrace,  whence  he  could 
ace  the  whole  trend  of  the  beetling  coast,  but  some  unaccount 
able  impulse  induced  him  to  paxise  and  look  back. 

The  dense  shadow  of  the  trees  shut  out  from  the  spot  wher« 
he  stood  the  golden  radiance  of  the  moon,  out  over  the  lawn  it 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART.  293 

streamed  in  almost  unearthly  splendor,  —  and  there  he  sa-w 
some  white  object  glide  swiftly  towards  the  group  of  deodars. 
The  first  solution  that  occurred  to  his  mind  was  that  Katie  had 
fallen  asleep,  and  Mrs.  Gerome  in  her  delirium  making  her 
way  out  of  the  house,  was  seeking  her  favorite  walk ;  oiit  & 
moment's  reflection  convinced  him  that  she  was  too  utterly 
prostrated  to  cross  the  room,  still  less  the  ground?,  and,  resolve*! 
to  satisfy  himself,  he  followed  the  moving  object  that  retreated 
"t>eforo  him. 

Walking  rapidly  but  stealthily  in  the  shadow  of  the  treea 
and  shrubbery,  he  soon  ascertained  that  it  was  a  woman's 
figure,  and  saw  that  it  stopped  at  Elsie's  grave,  and  bent  down 
to  touch  the  head-board.  Creeping  forward,  he  had  approached 
within  ten  yards  of  her,  when  his  hat  struck  the  lower  limbs  of 
a  large  acacia,  and  startled  a  bird  that  uttered  a  cry  of  terror 
and  darted  out.  The  sound  caused  the  figure  to  turn  her  head, 
and  catching  a  glimpse  of  Dr.  Grey,  she  ran  under  the  dense 
houghs  of  the  deodars,  and  disappeared. 

He  followed,  and  groped  through  the  gloom,  but  when  ho 
emerged,  no  living  thing  was  visible ;  and,  perplexed  and  curious, 
he  slood  still. 

After  some  moments  he  heard  a  faint  sound,  as  of  some  one 
smothering  a  cough,  and  pursuing  it,  found  himself  at  the 
boundary  of  the  grounds.  Here  a  thick  hedge  of  osage  orange 
barred  egress,  and  he  saw  the  woman  disentangling  her  drapery 
from  the  thorns  that  had  seized  it. 

Springing  forward,  he  exclaimed,  — 

"  Stand  still !     You  can  not  escape  me.      Who  are  you?  " 

A  feigned  and  lugubrious  voice  answered,  — 

•'  I  am  the  restless  spirit  of  Elsie  Maclean,  come  back  &c 
guard  her  grave." 

In  another  instant  he  was  at  her  side,  and  laying  his  hand  OB 
he  white  netted  shawl  with  which  she  was  veiling  her  features, 
he  tore  it  away,  and  Salome's  fair  face  looked  defiantly  at  him. 

"  If  I  had  known  that  my  pursuer  was  Dr.  Giey,  I  would 
not  have  troubled  myself  to  play  the  ghost  farce,  for  of  course 
I  could  not  expect  to  frighten  you  off;  b  it  I  hoped  you  were 
85* 


294  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

one  of  the  servants,  who  would  not  very  diligently  chaae  » 
Bpecire.  I  did  not  suppose  that  you  could  be  coaxed  or  driven 
thus  far  from  your  arm-chair  beside  the  bed  where  Mrs. 
Gerome  is  asleep." 

Astonishment  kept  him  silent  for  some  seconds,  and,  in  the 
s  wkward  pause,  the  girl  laughed  constrainedly  —  nervously. 

"After  all  your  show  of  bravery  in  pursuing  a  woman,  I 
varily  believe  you  are  too  much  frightened  to  arrest  me  ii 
f  chose  to  escape." 

"  Salome,  has  something  terrible  happened  at  home,  that 
70  u  have  come  here  at  midnight  to  break  to  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing  has  happened  at  home." 

"  Then  why  are  you  here  ?     Are  you,  too,  delirious  ?  " 

Her  scornful  laugh  rang  startlingly  on  the  still  night  air. 

"  Oh,  Salome  !     You  grieve,  you  shock  me  !  " 

"  Yes,  Dr.  Grey,  you  have  assured  me  of  that  fact  too  fre 
quently —  too  feelingly  —  to  permit  me  to  doubt  your  sincerity. 
You  need  not  repeat  it;  I  accept  the  assertion  that  you  are 
shocked  at  my  indiscretions." 

Compassion  predominated  over  displeasure,  as  he  observed 
the  utter  recklessness  that  pervaded  her  tone  and  manner. 

"  I  am  unwilling  to  believe  that  you  would,  without  some 
very  cogent  reason,  violate  all  decorum  by  coming  alone  at 
dead  of  night  two  miles  through  a  dreary  stretch  of  hills  anc 
woods.  Necessity  sometimes  sanctions  an  infraction  of  th< 
rules  of  rigid  propriety,  and  I  am  impatient  to  hear  youi 
defence  of  this  most  extraordinary  caprice." 

She  was  endeavoring  to  disengage  the  fringe  of  her  shawl 
from  the  hedge,  but  finding  it  a  tedious  operation,  she  caught 
&or  drapery  in  both  hand?  and  tore  it  away  from  the  thorns, 
leaving  several  shreds  hanging  on  the  prickly  boughs. 

**  Dr.  Grey,  I  have  no  defence  to  offer." 

"  Tell  me  what  induced  you  to  come  here." 

''  An  eminently  charitable  and  commendable  interest  in  your 
feir  patient.  I  came  here  simply  and  solely  to  ascertain  whether 
Mrs.  Gerome  would  die,  or  whether  she  cotild  possibly  re 
cover." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  295 

Uiiilinehingly  she  looked  up  into  his  eyes,  and  ht  rhoaght  ht 
Ltd  never  seen  a  fairer,  prouder,  or  lovelier  face. 

"How  did  you  expect  to  accomplish  your  errand  by  wander1 
irg  about  these  grounds,  exposing  yourself  to  ins'ilt  and  tc 
injury  ?  " 

"  1  have  been  on  the  gallery  since  twilight,  looking  throu s's 
thy  lace  curtains  at  Mrs.  Gerome  lying  on  her  oed,  and  at 
vou  sitting  in  the  aim-chair  Her  eyes  are  keener  than  yours, 
for  she  saw  me  peeping  through  tl.e  window,  and  told  you  so. 
When  you  left  the  room  1  came  out  among  the  trees  to  escape 
observation.  I  scorn  all  equivocation,  and  have  no  desire  to 
conceal  the  truth,  for  if  I  am  not  dowered 

'  With  blood  trained  up  along  nine  centuries, 
To  hound  and  hate  a  lie,' 

jit  least  I  hold  my  pauper  soul  high  above  the  mire  of  false 
hood;  and 

'  The  things  we  do, 
We  do :  we'll  wear  no  mask,  as  if  we  blushed. ' " 

They  had  walked  away  from  the  hedge,  and  Dr.  Grey  paused 
at  the  mound,  where  the  Ariadne  gleamed  cold  and  white  in  the 
moonbeams  that  slanted  across  it  like  silver  lances. 

lievolviug  in  his  mind  the  best,  method  of  extricating  the 
orphan  from  the  unfortunate  predicament  in  which  her  rash 
ness  had  plunged  her,  he  did  not  answer  immediately,  and 
Salome  continued,  impatiently,  — 

"  If  you  imagine  that  I  came  here  to  act  as  spy  upon  your 
«otions,  you  most  egregiously  mistake  me,  for  I  know  all  that 
fiitt  most  rigid  surveillance  could  possibly  teach  me.  I  hoard 
you  s:iy  that  this  night  would  prove  a  crisis  in  Mrs.  Geromo'H 
cas(!,  raid  I  was  so  anxious  to  learn  the  result  that  1  could  not 
wait  quietly  at  home  until  morning.  I  begged  you  to  bring  roe, 
snd  yon  refused;  consequently,  f  came  alone.  Deal  frankly 
'•sith  tne,  —  tell  me,  will  that  woman  die  V  " 

The  breathless  eagerness  with  which  she  bent  towards  him, 
the  strained,  almost  ferocious  expression  of  her  keen  eyes, 


J96  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

sickened  his  soul,  and  he  put  Ids  hand  over  his  face  to  shut  *ut 
the  sight  of  hers. 

"  Tell  me  the  trnth.     I  must  and  will  know  it." 

Her  sweet  clear  voice  had  become  a  low  hoarse  pant,  ana  ttff 
knotted  lines  were  growing  harder  and  tighter  on  her  beautif al 
brow. 

"  I  pray  ceaselessly  that  God  will  spare  her  to  me,  and  F  hops 
»I1  tilings  from  His  mercy.  Another  hour  will  probably  end 
my  suspense,  and  decide  the  awful  question  of  life  or  death. 
Salome,  if  she  should  die,  my  future  will  be  very  lonely,  —  and 
my  heart  bereft  of  the  brightest,  dearest  hopes,  that  have  evei 
-jheered  it." 

A  half-smothered  cry  struggled  across  the  orphan's  trembling 
ips  that  had  suddenly  grown  colorless,  and  he  saw  her  clutch 
aer  fingers. 

"And  if  she  lives?" 

"  If  she  lives,  and  will  accept  the  affection  I  shall  offer  her, 
the  remainder  of  my  years  will  be  devoted  to  the  work  of 
making  her  forget  the  sorrows  that  have  darkened  the  early 
portion,  of  her  life.  I  do  not  wish  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she 
is  inexpressibly  dear  to  me." 

During  the  long  silence  that  ensued,  a  lifetime  of  agony 
seemed  compressed  into  the  compass  of  a  few  moments,  but 
Salome  stood  motionless,  with  her  arms  pressed  over  her  aching 
heart,  and  her  head  thrown  haughtily  back,  while  the  moonlight 
streamed  down  on  her  face  where  pride  and  pain  were  strug 
gling  for  right  to  reign. 

When  all  expectation  of  earthly  happiness  is  smothered  in  a 
proud,  passionate  soul,  and  the  future  robes  itself  in  those  dun 
Onaa  that  only  the  day-star  of  eternity  can  gild,  nerves  and 
muscles  shrink  and  shiver  at  the  massacre  of  hopes  whicc 
despair  hews  down,  in  the  hour  that  in  "storms  the  citadel  of 
the  heart,  and  puts  the  whole  garrison  to  the  sword." 

Dr.  Grey  could  not  endure  the  sight  of  that  fixed,  hardened 
face,  and  sorely  distressed  by  the  consciousness  of  the  suffer 
ing  which  he  had  unintentionally  inflicted  on  one  sc  youag, 
tie  moved  away,  ftnd  for  some  time  walked  slowly  uixder  fchb 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  297 

arching  laurestines.  Although  his  ptern  integrity  :f  purpose 
acquitted  him  of  all  blame,  and  he  could  accuse  himself  of  no 
word  or  deed  that  might  be  held  amenable  to  conscience  for  the 
mischief  and  misery  that  had  resulted  from  tis  acquaintance 
with  this  unfortunate?  girl,  he  regretted  that  he  had  remained  in 
the  same  house,  and,  b\  constant  association,  fed  the  tlame  thai 
absence  might  have  extinguished. 

While  lie  pitied  the  weakness  that  had  induced  her  to  yield 
v.  entirely  to  the  preference  she  indulged  for  him,  he  felt  humili 
ated  at  the  thought  that  he,  who  had  intended  to  gidde  and 
elevate  this  wayward  child  of  nature,  had  been  instrumental 
in  darkening  and  embittering  her  young  life. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  spot,  whence  she  had  not  moved, 
Hnd  laid  his  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder,  she  smiled  strangely, 
and 

' '  Unbent  the  grieving  beauty  of  her  brows. 
But  held  her  heart's  proud  pain  superbly  etilL" 

"  My  little  sister,  you  must  not  stay  here  any  longer.  Would 
you  prefer  to  go  home  at  once  in  my  buggy,  or  remain  in  the 
parlor  until  daylight?" 

"Neither.  Lut  me  sit  down  on  the  stone  terrace  till  the  end 
comes.  I  will  disturb  no  one.  It  will  be  three  hours  before 
day  breaks,  and  when  you  know  whether  your  idol  will  live  or 
die,  come  and  tell  me.  Take  your  hand  from  my  shoulder." 

He  hiul  endeavored  to  detain  her,  but  she  shrank  away  frorh 
his  grasp,  and  glided  down  the  smooth  sward  to  the  terrace 
which  divided  it  from  the  ripple-barred  and  ringed  sands  of  the 
shelving  beach. 

A'i  lie  returned  to  the  house,  the  wind  sprang  up  and  moaned 
through  the  dense  foliage  above  him,  and  an  owJ,  perched  in 
some  clustering  bough  that  overhung  the  portico,  screamed  and 
hooted  dismally.  The  sound  was  so  startling  that  the  grey 
hound  leaped  to  his  feet  and  set  up  an  ans\\erirg  howl,  which 
almost  froze  Katie  with  fright,  and  caused  even.  Mrs.  ^erouie't? 
heavy  eyelids  to  unclose. 

Salome  sat  down  on  the  paved  terrace,  crossed  her  urms  .,vet 


298  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART. 

the  low  stone  balustrade,  and  resting  her  chin  upon  them, 
looked  out  at  the  burnished  bosom  of  the  ocean.  Just  beneath 
her,  and  near  enough  to  moisten  the  granite  with  the  silvery 
•pray,-- 

"  Its  waves  are  kneeling  on  the  strand. 

As  kneels  the  human  knee, 
Their  white  locks  bowing  to  the  sand, 
The  priesthood  of  the  sea. " 

If  the  old  Rabbinical  legend  of  Sandalphoii  be  grounded  in 
gome  solemn  vision  granted  to  the  saints  of  eld,  who  walked  in 
Syria,  then  perad  venture  on  this  night,  the  angel  must  have 
been  puzzled  indeed  concerning  the  petitions  that  floated  up, 
and  demanded  admission  to  the  Eternal  ear. 

From  the  anxious  heart  of  the  sincere  and  humble  Christian 
who  knelt  at  the  bedside  of  the  invalid,  rose  a  fervent  prayer 
that  if  consistent  with  the  Father's  will,  He  would  lay  Ilia 
healing  hand  upon  the  sufferer,  and  restore  her  to  health  and 
strength ;  while  the  wretched  girl  on  the  terrace  prayed 
vehemently  that  God  would  crush  the  feeble  flicker  of  life  in 
Mrs.  Gerome's  wasted  frame,  would  take  from  the  world  a 
woman  whose  existence  was  a  burden  to  herself  and  threatened 
to  prove  a  curse  to  others. 

The  passionate  cry  of  Salome's  soul  was,  — 

"  Punish  me  in  any  way,  and  all  other  ways !  Send  sick 
ness,  destitution,  humiliation,  —  let  every  other  affliction  smite 
me;  but  save  me  from  the  intolerable  anguish  of  seeing  that 
woman  his  wife !  O  my  God !  the  world  is  not  wide  enough 
to  hold  us  both.  Take  her,  or  else  call  me  speedily  hence. 
I  am  not  fit  to  die,  but  I  shall  never  be  better,  if  I  am  doomed 
to  witness  this  marriage.  I  would  sooner  go  down  to  perdition 
BTW,  than  live  to  see  that  thing  of  horror.  Of  two  hells, 
I  choose  that  which  takes  me  farthest  from  her." 

For  ihe  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  that  the  hours  were  fly 
Ing,  that  the  day  of  doom  was  rushing  to  meet  her,  and  she 
shuddered  when  one  after  another  the  constellations  slipped 
softly  and  solemnly  down  tiie  sky,  and  vanished  behind  the  dim 
shadowy  outline  of  the  western  liills.  Gradually  the  moon  sank 


UNTIL  DEATU  US  LO  PART.  29S 

«o  low  that  the  sea  could  no  longer  reflect  her  beams,  &nd  as  the 
mighty  waste  of  waters  slowly  darkened,  and  the  wind  stiffened, 
and  the  song  of  the  surf  swelled  like  a  rising  requiem,  the  girl 
felt  that  all  nature  wan  preparing  to  mourn  with  her  orer  -Iif 
burial  of  her  only  hope  of  earthly  peace. 

If  Mrs.  Gerome  died,  a  quiet  future  stretched  before   tho.  Di 
pban,  and  she  could  bear  to  live  without  the  love  which  she  hac 
the.  grim  satisfaction  of  knowing  brightened  no  other  woman's 
Hfe. 

The  happiness  of  the  man  for  whom  she  almost  impiously 
prayed,  was  a  matter  of  little  importance  compared  with  the 
ease  of  her  own  heart;  and  she  had  yet  to  learn  </iat  the  welfare 
and  peace  of  the  object  she  loved  so  selfishly  would  one  day  be- 
non:^  paramount  to  all  other  aims  and  considerations.  That 
pur;  and  sublime  spirit  of  self-abnegation  which  immolates  every 
hop;  and  wish  that  is  at  variance  with  the  happiness  of  the  be 
loved  had  not  yet  been  born  in  Salome's  fiery  nature;  and  she 
c-'«r-J  little  for  the  anguish  that  might  be  Dr.  Grey's  portion, 
provided  her  own.  heart  could  be  spared  the  pang  of  witnessing 
his  wedded  bliss. 

'.Through  the  trees,  she  could  see  the  steady  light  of  the  lamp 
tli at  burned  in  the  room  where  the  sick  woman  lay,  and  so 
she  watched  and  waited,  shivering  in  the  shadow  that  fell 
over  earth  and  ocean  just  before  the  breaking  of  the  new  day. 

Along  the  eastern  hori/ou,  the  white  fires  of  rising  constclla- 
tiors  paled  and  flickered  and  seemed  to  die,  as  a  gray  light  stole 
uy>  behind  them;  and  the  gray  grew  pearly,  and  the  pearly 
opjiine,  and  ere  long  the  sky  crimsoned,  and  the  sea  reddenr-d 
until  its  waves  were  like  ruby  wine  or  human  gore. 

in  the  radiant  dawn  of  that  day  which  would  decide  t:h« 
earthly  destinies  of  three  beings.  Salome  saw  "Dr.  Grey  cornint 
••"-ess  the  lawn.  His  step  was  quiet,  —  neither  .slow  ncr  lis-sty, 
and  she  could  not  conjecture  the  result :  but  as  he  approached,  she 
rose,  wrapped  her  shawl  about  her,  and  advanced  to  meet  him. 
Ke  paused,  took  cff  his  hat,  and  she  knew  all  before  a  syllable 
parsed  his  lips. 

"  Salome,  God  has  heard  my  prayers,  —  has  mercifully  takes 


300  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

my  darJing  from  the  arms  of  death,  and  given  her  fo  me.  f  dt 
not  think  I  am  too  sanguine  in  saying  that  she  will  ultimately 
recover,  and  my  heart  can  not  find  language  that  will  interpret 
its  gratitude  and  joy." 

Never  before  had  such  a  light  shone  in  his  clear,  ca^m  bJus 
tyes,  and  illumined  ]  is  usually  grave  countenance:  and  ihougk 
ontinued  vigils  tuid  keen  anxiety  had  left  their  signet  on  hi* 
pale  face,  his  great  happiness  was  printed  legibly  on  every  fe.afrire, 
anJ  found  expression  even  in  the  deepened  and  softened  tones  of 
his  voice. 

The  girl  did  not  move  or  speak,  but  looked  steadily  into  his 
bright  eyes,  and  the  calmness  with  which  she  listened,  comforted 
and  encouraged  him  to  hope  that  ere  long  she  would  conquer  her 
preference. 

How  could  lie  know  that  at  that  instant  she  was  impiously 
vowftig  that  heaven  had  heard  her  last  prayer?  —  that  never 
again  should  a  petition  cross  her  lips?  God  had  granted  one 
prayer,  —  had  decided  against  hers,  —  had  denied  her  utterly ; 
jitid  henceforth  she  would  not  weary  Him,  —  she  would  not 
mock  herself  and  her  misery. 

Dr.  Grey  saw  that  there  was  no  quiver  on  the  still,  pale  lips,  no 
contraction  of  the  polished  forehead ;  but  the  rigidity  of  her  face 
broke  up  suddenly  in  a  smile  of  indescribable  mournfulness,  —  a 
smile  where  self-contempt  and  pity  and  hopeless  bitterness  all 
lent  their  saddest  phases. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  in  your  present  happy  mood,  you  certainly  can 
siot  be  BO  ungracious  as  to  deny  me  a  favor?  " 

<;  Have  3  ever  refused  my  little  sister  anything  she  asked  ?  " 

"  1  he  only  favor  you  can  ever  grant  me  will  be  to  persuade 
Mifls  Jane  to  consent  to  my  departure.  Look  to  it,  sir,  that  J 
«m  allowed  to  go,  and  that  right  speedily;  forgo  1  certainly 
•hall,  at  all  hazards.  Convince  your  sister  that  it  is  best,  and 
let  me  go  away  forever,  without  incurring  the  displeasure  of  the 
only  friend  I  ever  had  or  ever  shall  have." 

She  moved  away  as  if  to  leave  the  grounds,  but  he  caught  her 

aim. 

"  Wait  five  minutes,  Salome,  and  I  will  take  yo\i  home  in  rm 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  301 

buggy,     It  is  not  right  for  you  to  walk  alone  at  thio  early  nour, 
and  I  will  not  allow  it." 

She  shook  olF  his  hand  as  if  it  had  been  an  infant's ;  and,  as  shf 
walked  away,  he  heard  her  laugh  "with  a  degree  of  savage  hittf/i 
twsf!  lha<;  stabbed  his  generous  heart  like  a  dagger ;  while  behind 
aor  trailed  the  hissing  echo, — 

"Oh,  alone,  alone, — 
Not  troubling  any  in  heaven,  nor  any  on  earth. " 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

jj]N  the  pure,  clear  light  of  early  morning,  "  Grassmere," 
•with  its  wide,  smooth  lawn,  and  old-fashioned  brick 
house,  weather-stained  and  moss-mantled,  looked  singu- 
larly  peaceful  and  attractive.  Against  the  sombre  mass  of  tree- 
foliage,  white  and  purple  altheas  raised  their  circular  censers,  as 
if  to  greet  the  sun  that  was  throwing  level  beams  from  the  eastern 
hill-top,  and  delicate  pink,  and  deep  azure,  and  pearl-pale  convol 
vulus  held  up  their  velvet  trumpets  all  beaded  with  dew,  to  be 
drained  by  tho  first  kiss  of  the  great  Day-God.  Up  and  down 
the  comb  of  the  steep  roof,  beautiful  pigeons  with  necklaces  that 
rivalled  the  trappings  of  Solomon,  strutted  and  cooed ;  on  the 
saves,  busy  brown  wrens  peeped  into  the  gutters, — 

"  And  of  the  news  delivered  their  small  souls,"  - 

gossipping  industriously;  while  from  a  distant  nook  some  vft. 
.grant  partridge  whistled  for  its  mate,  and  shy  doves  swinging  IB 
fee  highest  elm  limbs,  moaned  plaintively  of  the  last  hmrtiEg- 
aeaooii,  that  had  proved  a  St.  Bartholomew's  day  to  the  innocent 
feathered  folk. 

On  the  lawn  a  flock  of  turkeys  were  foraging  among  the  clover- 
1.  iossorns,  and  over  the  dewy  grass  a  large  brood  of  yo'~ng  guineas 
nux-;d  after  their  mother,  or  played  hide-and-seek,  like  nut-hrowL 
26 


502  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  fA£T. 

elves,  uncbr  the  white  and  purple  tufts  of  flowers.  S^«  the 
bird-world  —  always  abroad  early  —  no  living  thing  seemed 
astir,  and  the  silence  that  reigned  was  broken  only  by  the  dis> 
tanco-softened  bleating  of  Stanley's  pet  lamb. 

As  Salome  walked  slowly  and  wearily  up  the  avenue,  she  8arw 
that  the  house-maid  had  opened  the  front  door,  and  when  th« 
orphan  ascended  the  steps,  all  within  was  still  as  a  tomb,  except 
Iho  canary  that  sprang  Lnto  its  ring  and  began  to  warble  a  reveille 
&s  she  approached  the  cage.  Miss  Jane  was  usually  an  early 
riser,  and  often  aroused  her  servants,  but  to-day  the  household 
seemed  to  have  overslept  themselves,  and  when  Salome  had  re 
arranged  her  dress,  and  waked  her  little  brother,  she  rang  the 
bell  for  Rachel,  who  soon  obeyed  the  summons. 

"  Is  Miss  Jane  up  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  suppose  not,  as  she  has  not  rung  for  me.  You 
know  I  always  wait  for  her  bell." 

"  Perhaps  she  is  not  very  well  this  morning.  I  will  go  and 
see  whether  she  intends  to  get  tip." 

Salome  went  down  stairs  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  Miss 
Jane's  room,  but  no  sound  was  audible  within,  and  she  softly 
turned  the  bolt  and  entered. 

The  lamp  was  burning  very  dimly  on  a  table  close  to  the  bed, 
and  upon  the  open  bible  lay  the  spectacles  which  the  old  lady 
had  placed  there  twelve  hours  before,  when  she  finished  reading 
the  nightly  chapter  that  generally  composed  her  mind  and  put 
her  to  sleep. 

Salome  conjectured  that  she  had  forgotten  to  extinguish  the 
lamp,  and  as  she  cautiously  turned  the  wick  down,  her  eyc-g 
rested  on  the  open  page  where  pencil-lines  marked  the  twelfth 
:hapter  of  Ecclesiastes,  and  enclosed  the  sixth  and  seventh 
r.~c*s?s,  "Or  ever  the  silver  cord  be  loosed,  or  the  golden  bowl 
„•£>•  broken,  or  the  pitcher  be  broken  at  the  fountain,  or  tha 
tfhfjel  broken  at  the  cistern.  Then  shall  the  dust  return  to  the 
earth  as  it  was ;  and  :he  spirit  shall  return  unto  God  who  gave  it." 

Removing  the  glasses,  the  girl  closed  the  book,  and  leanei 
»ver  the  pillow  to  look  at  the  sleeper.  She  tad  turned  her  faca 
towards  the  wall,  and  one  hand  lay  under  her  head,  pressed 


DEATH  US  DO  PART.  303 

against  her  cheek,  while  the  other  held  her  handkerchief  on  th» 
outside  of  the  counterpane. 

Very  softly  she  slumbered,  with  a  placid  smile  half  breaking 
ovsr  ber  aged,  wrinkled  features ;  and  unwilling  to  shorten  the 
morning  nap  in  which  she  so  rareiy  indulged,  Salome  sat  down 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  leaning  her  head  on  her  hands,  fell 
into  a  painful  and  profound  reverie. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed,  unheeded  by  the  unhappy  girl,  whcso 
anguish  rendered  her  indifferent  to  all  that  surrounded  her ;  and 
after  a  while  a  keen  pang  thrilled  her  heart,  as  she  heard  Dr. 
Grey's  pleasant  voice  jesting  with  Stanley  on  the  lawn.  Hia 
happiness  .seemed  an  insult  to  her  misery,  and  she  stopped  her 
ears  to  exclude  the  sound  of  his  quiet  laugh. 

A  half  hour  elapsed,  and  then  his  well-known  rap  was  heard 
at  the  door.  .Miss  Jane  did  not  answer,  and  Salome  was  in  110 
mood  to  welcome  him  home;  but  he  waited  for  neither,  and 
came  in,  gently  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

At  sight  uf  the  orphan,  he  started  slightly,  and  said,  — 

"  Li  my  sister  sick  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  she  is  sleeping  umisually  late.  I  thought, 
it  best  not  to  disturb  her." 

The  look  of  dread  that  swept  over  his  countenance  frightened 
her,  and  she  rose  as  he  moved  hastily  to  the  bed-side. 

"  Salome,  open,  the  blinds.      Quick  !   quick  !  " 

She  sprang  to  the  window,  threw  the  shutters  wide  open,  and 
hastened  back.  Dr.  Grey's  hand  was  on  his  .sister's  wrist,  and 
his  ear  pressed  against  her  heart,  —  strained  to  catch  some  faint 
puk:Vi ion.  His  head  went  down  on  her  pillow,  and  Salome  held 
her  breath. 

Ci  Oh,  Janet !  My  dear,  patient,  good  sister  !  This  is  indeed 
bard  to  bear.  To  die  alouo  —  unsoothed—  unnoticed ;  with 
TiO  kiud  hands  about  you!  To  die  —  withovC  _ne  farewel 

*0r.i  !  '' 

He  hid  his  facoin  his  hands,  and  Salome  staggered  to  the  bed, 
and  grasped  Miss  Jane's  rigid,  icy  fingers. 

In  the  silence  of  midnight,  Death  stole  her  spirit  from  its  cla> 
gra.-M««-'QT,n.  jvp.d  while  she  slept  peacefully  had  borne  her  beyond 


304  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

the  confines  of  Time,  and  left  her  resting  forever  in  tk«  Citj 
Celestial. 

A  life  dedicated  to  pure  aims  and  charitable  deeds  had  been 
rewarded  with  a  death  as  painless  as  the  slumber  of  a  tired  child 
on  its  mother's  bosom,  and,  without  struggle  or  premonition,  tha 
aoul  had  slipped  from  the  bondage  of  flesh  into  the  Everlasting 
Peace  that  remaineth  for  the  children  of  God. 

It  was  impossible  to  decide  at  what  hour  she  had  died ;  and 
when  the  members  of  the  appalled  household  were  questioned, 
Muriel  and  Miss  Dexter  stated  that  she  had  kissed  them  good 
night  and  appeared  as  well  as  usual  at  her  customary  time  of 
retiring ;  and  Rachel  testified  that  after  she  was  in  bed,  she  rang 
her  bell  and  directed  her  to  tell  the  cook  that  as  Dr.  Grey  would 
probably  come  home  about  daylight,  she  must  get  \ip  early  and 
have  a  cup  of  coffee  ready  when  he  arrived.  Sobbing  passion 
ately,  Rachel  added,  — 

"  When  I  asked  her  if  1  should  put  out  the  lamp,  she  said, 
*  No ;  Ulpian  may  lose  his  patient,  and  come  home  sad,  and 
then  he  will  come  in  and  talk  to  me  awhile.'  And  just  as 
I  was  leaving  the  room,  she  called  to  me,  '  Rachel,  what 
coat  did  Ulpian  wear?  It  turns  so  cool  now  before  day 
light  that  he  will  take  cold  if  he  has  on  that  linen  one.'  I  told 
her  I  did  not  know,  and  she  woukl  not  be  satisfied  till  I  went  to 
his  room  and  found  that  the  linen  coat  was  hanging  in  the  closet, 
and  the  gray  flannel  one  was  missing.  Then  she  opened  her 
bible  and  said,  'Ah,  that  is  all  right.  The  flannel  one  will 
do  very  well,  and  my  boy  will  be  comfortable.'  " 

Dr.  Grey's  grief  was  deep,  but  silent ;  and,  during  the  dreary 
day  and  night  that  succeeded,  he  would  allow  no  one  to  approach 
aim  except  Muriel,  whose  soft  little  hands,  and  tearful,  tender 
•art  sses,  seemed  in  some  degree  to  comfort  him. 

One  month  before,  Salome  would  have  wept  and  mourned 
with  him,  but  the  fountain  of  her  tears  was  exhausted  and 
ecorched  by  the  intense  bitterness  and  despairing  hate  that  had 
taken  possession  of  her  since  the  day  of  Elsie's  burial;  and 
•tunned  and  dry-eyed,  she  watched  the  preparations  for  thf 
obsequies  of  her  benefactress. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  306 

Her  love  for  Miss  Jane  had  never  been  sufficiently  ftivent  to 
fender  her  distress  very  poignant ;  but  in  the  death  of  this  de 
voted  friend  she  was  fully  aware  that  at  last  she  was  set  once 
more  adrift  in  the  world,  without  chart  or  rudder  save  that 
furnished  by  her  will. 

Life  to-day  *vas  not  the  beautiful  web,  all  aglow  with  rht 
tangling  of  gold  and  silver  threads,  that  had  once  charmed  and 
Sizzled  her,  fur  the  mildew  of  hopelessness  had  tarnished  the 
gilding,  and  the  mesh  was  only  a  mass  of  dark  knots,  and  subtle 
crossings,  and  inextricable  confusion. 

Like  that  lost  star  that  once  burned  so  luridly  in  Cassiopeia 
and  nickered  out,  leaving  a  gulf  of  gloom  where  stellar  glory 
was,  the  one  most  precious  hope  that  lights  and  sanctifies  a 
woman's  heart  had  waned  ;>,nd  grown  sickly,  and  finally  hau 
gone  out  utterly,  and  dust  and  ashes  and  darkness  filled  thn 
void.  Iii  natures  such  as  hers,  this  hope  is  not  allied  to  the 
phcenix,  and,  once  crushed,  knows  no  resurrection;  consequently 
she  cheated  herself  with  no  vain  expectation  that  the  mighty 
wizard,  Time,  could  evoke  from  corpse  or  funeral -pyre  even  a 
spark  to  cheer  tlu:  years  that  were  thundering  before  her. 

A  few  months  ago  the  future  had  glistened  as  peaceful  and 
silver^'  as  the  Dead  Sea  at  midnight,  when  a  full -orbed  Syrian 
moon  glares  down,  searching  for  the  palms  and  palaces  that  once 
marked  Gomorrah's  proud  places ;  and,  like  some  thirsty  travel 
ler  smitten  with  surface  sheen,  she  had  laid  her  fevered  lips  to 
the  treacherous  margin,  and,  drinking  eageriy,  had  been  repaid 
with  brine  and  bitumen. 

Disappointment  was  with  her  no  meek,  mute  affair,  but  a 
*avage  fiend  that  browbeat  and  anathematized  fate,  accusing 
'ICT  of  rendering  existence  a  mere  Nitocris  banquet,  where,  while 
Z'>v;y  sense  is  sharpened  and  pampered,  and  fruition  almost 
touches  the  outstretched  hands  of  eager  trust,  the  flood-gates  of 
the  mighty  Nile  of  despair  are  lifted,  and  its  chill,  dusky  waves 
make  irremediable  wreck  of  all. 

With  the  quiet  tlumghtfnlness  and  good  sense  that  character 
ized  her  unobtrusive  conduct;,  j\Iiss  Dexter  had  prepared  from 
Muriel's  wardrobe  an  entire  :;uit,  of  mourning,  whicL'  she  pr*> 


306  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAMT. 

vailed  upon  Salome  to  accept  and  wear;  and.  on  the  morning  of 
the  funeral,  the  latter  went,  down  early  into  _ae  draped  and 
darkened  parlor,  where  th.3  coffin  and  its  cold  tenant  awaited 
the  last  offices  that  dust  can  perform  for  dust. 

She  had  not  spoken  to  Dr.  Grey  for  twenty-four  hours,  and, 
finding  him  beside  the  table  where  his  sister's  body  lay,  the 
orphan  would  have  retreated,  but  he  caught  the  rustling  sound 
of  her  crape  and  bombazine,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Come  in,  Salome." 

She  took  no  notice  of  the  offered  fingers,  but  passed  him,  and 
went  around  the  table  to  the  opposite  side. 

The  wrinkled,  sallow  face,  still  wore  its  tranquil  half-smile, 
and,  under  the  cap-border  of  fine  lace,  the  grizzled  hair  lay 
smooth  and  glossy  on  the  sunken  temples. 

In  accordance  with  a  wish  which  she  had  often  expressed,  the 
ghostly  shroud  was  abandoned,  and  Miss  Jane  was  dressed  in 
her  favorite  black  silk.  Salome  had  gathered  a  small  bouquet  of 
the  fragile  white  blossoms  of  apple-geranium,  of  which  the  old 
lady  was  particularly  fond,  and,  bending  over  the  coffin,  she 
laid  them  between  the  fingers  that  were  interlaced  on  the  pulse 
less  heart. 

With  a  quiet  mournfulness,  more  eloquent  than  passionate 
grief,  the  girl  stood  looking  for  the  last  time  at  the  placid  coun 
tenance  that  had  always  beamed  kindly  and  lovingly  upon  her 
since  that  dreary  day,  when,  iinder  the  nickering  shadow  of  the 
mulberry-tree,  she  had  called  her  from  the  poor-house  and  given 
her  a  happy  home, 

She  stooped  to  kiss  the  livid  lips,  that  had  never  spoken 
harshly  to  her;  and,  for  some  seconds,  her  face  was  hidden  on 
the  bosom  of  the  dead.  When  she  raised  it,  the  dry,  glittering 
eyes  and  firm  mouth,  betokened  the  bitterness  of  soul  that  no 
tuvectivas  could  exhaust,  no  language  adequately  express. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  if  the  exchange  could  be  made,  I  would  not  only 
willingly,  but  gladly,  thankfufly,  lie  down  here  in  this  coffin,  and 
give  your  sister  back  to  your  arms.  The  Reaper,  Death,  has 
exit  down  the  perfect,  golden  grain,  and  left  the  tares  to  shiver 
in  the  coining  winter.  Some  v*ho  are  useless  and  life-weary 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  307 

bend  forward,  hoping  to  meet  the  sickle,  but  it  sweeps  above 
them,  and  they  wither  slowly  among  the  stulble." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  found  it  difficult  to  realize  that  the 
pale,  quiet,  stern  woman,  standing  there  in  sombre  weeds,  waa 
!,he  same  fair  young  face  that  he  had  seen  thirty-six  hours  before 
in  the  moonlight  that  brightened  Elsie's  grave.  He  thought 
••hat  only  the  slow,  heavy  rolling  of  years  could  have  worn  those 
'.iiies  about  her  faded  lips,  and  those  dark  purplish  hollows 
under  the  steady,  undimmed  eyes.  That  composed,  frigid  Salom«, 
watching  him  from  across  the  corpse  and  coffin,  seemed  a  mero 
chill  shadow  of  the  fiery,  impetuous,  radiant  girl,  whose  passion' 
ate  waywardness  had  so  often  annoyed  and  grieved  him.  The 
ilabaster  vase  was  still  perfect  in  form,  but  the  lamp  that  had 
hitherto  burned  within,  lending  a  rosy  glow  to  clay,  had  flut 
tered  and  expired,  and  the  change  was  painful  indeed. 

His  attention  was  so  riveted  upon  the  extraordinary  alteration 
in  her  appearance,  that  her  words  fell  on  his  ear,  as  empty,  aa 
meaningless,  as  the  echoes  heard  in  dreams,  and  when  she  ceased 
speaking,  he  looked  perplexed,  and  sighed  heavily. 

"What  did  you  say?  I  do  not  think  I  understand  you;  my 
mind  was  abstracted  when  you  spoke." 

''"True;  you  never  will  understand  me.  Only  the  dead  sleep 
ing  here  between  \iv  fully  comprehended  me,  and  even  unto  the 
end  of  my  life-chapter  I  must  walk  on  misapprehended.  When 
the  coffin-lid  is  screwed  down  over  that  dear,  kind  face,  I  shall 
have  bidden  adieu  to  my  sole  and  last  friend;  for  in  the  Hero- 
?;fu-r  she  will  not,  know  me.  All,  Miss  Jane  !  you  tried  hard  to 
'loach  me  Christianity,  but  it  was  like  geometry,  I  had  no  talent 
.\,r  it, — could  not  take  hold  of  it,  —  and  ib  all  slipped  through 
~ny  iingers.  if  there  is  indeed  an  inexorable  and  incorruptibh 
Justice  reigning  behind  the  stars,  you  will  be  so  happy  that  I 
and  niy  sins,  and  my  desolation  will  not  trouble  you.  Good-by, 
dear  Miss  Jane ;  ib  is  not  your  fault  that  I  missed  my  chance 
of  bo  ing  coaxed  into  the  celestial  fold  with  the  elect  sheep,  and 
Snd  myself  scourged  out  with  the  despised  goats.  God  grani 
7QU  10s  everlasting  rest." 


508  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

She  turned,  but  Dr.  Grey  stretc.led  hi*  arm  across  Ms  gister'a 
body,  and  caught  the  orphan's  dress. 

"  ^alome,  God  has  called  my  own  sister  to  her  blessed  rest  in 
Christ,  but  my  adopted  sister  He  has  left  to  comfort,  to  sympa 
thize  with  me.  Here,  in  the  sacred  presence  of  my  dear  dead 
I  ask  you  to  take  her  place,  and  be  to  me  throughout  life  the 
true,  loving,  faithful  friend  whom  nothing  can  alienate,  and  of 
whom  only  death  can  deprive  me.  My  little  sister,  let  tin 
full? re  ripen  and  sanctify  our  confidence,  affection,  and  friend 
ship." 

''No,  sir;  sinners  can  not  fill  the  niches  of  the  saints;  and  to 
day  we  are  more  completely  divided  than  if  the  ocean  roared 
between  xis.  Once  I  struggled  hard  to  cure  myself  of  my  faults, 
—  to  purify  and  fashion  my  nature  anew,  but  the  incentive  has 
died,  and  I  have  no  longer  the  proxid  aspirations  that  lifted  me 
like  eagle's  win^s  hijrh  above  the  dust  into  which  I  have  now 

O  Co 

fallen,  —  and  where  I  expect  to  remain.  You  need  not  fear  that 
I  shall  commit  some  capital  sin,  and  go  down  in  disgrace  to  my 
grave ;  for  there  must  be  some  darling  hope,  some  precious  aim, 
that  goads  people  to  crime,  —  and  neither  of  these  have  I.  I  do 
not  want  your  friendship,  and  I  will  not  allow  your  dictation ; 
and,  if  you  are  as  generous  as  I  have  believed  you,  I  think  you 
will  spare  m-e  the  manifestation  of  your  pity.  Miss  Jane  was  the 
only  link  that  united  us  in  any  degree,  and  now  we  are  asunder 
and  adrift.  You  see  at  least  I  am  honest,  and  since  I  have 
not  yoxir  confidence,  I  decline  your  compassion  and  espionagej 
and  refuse  to  accept  a  sham  friendship, —  to  trust  myself  upon 
a  gossamer  web  that  stretches  across  a  dismal  gulf  of  gloom,  and 
wretchedness,  and  endless  altercation.  When  I  am  in  one  con 
tiuent,  and  you  are  in  another,  we  shall  be  better  friends  UIRE 
now." 

Her  cold,  slow,  measured  accents,  and  the  calm  pallor  of  Lei 
feat  ures  told  how  complete  was  the  change  that  had  set  its  stern 
seal  on  body  and  soul ;  and  Dr.  Grey's  heart  ached,  as  he  real 
ized  how  withering  was  the  blight  that  had  fallen  on  her  once 

O  O 

buoyant,  sanguine  natrre. 

"My  dear  Salome,  for  Janet's  sake,  and  in  memory  of  all 


UNTIL    DEATH  6r<?  DO   PART.  309 

\er  love  an  I  counsel,  let  me  beg  you  not  to  indulge  feelings  that 
can  only  result  in  utter  —  " 

"  Dr.  Grey,  let  there  be  silence  and  peace  between  us,  at  leas^ 
ivt  the  presence  of  the  dead.  Expostulation  from  your  lips  only 
>y,; asperates  aud  hardens  me;  so  pniy  be  quiet.  No!  do  noi 
• •,•>  ich  me  !  Our  hands  havo  not  clasped  each  other  so  often  nor 
••.;•  closely  that  they  must  needs  miss  the  warmth  and  pressure5 
1.1  the  coming  years  of  separation,  and  I  will  not  soil  your  paini 
svkh  mine." 

She  coldly  put,  aside  the  hand  that  endeavored  to  take  hers, 
tuid,  after  ono  long,  sad  gaze  at  the  marble  face  in  the  coflin, 
'urued  avvay,  and  went  I. nek  to  her  own  room. 

Miss  June's  charities  had  carried  her  name  even  to  the  secluf 
•  ied  nooks  of  the  county,  and,  when  her  death  was  announced^ 
many  humble  beneficiaries  of  her  bounty  came  to  offer  the  last 
testimonial  of  respect  and  gratitude,  by  following  the  remains  to 
their  final  resting-])1. ace.  As  the  hour  approached  for  the  solemn 
rites,  the  house  was  iiiled  with  friends  and  acquaintances;  and 
the  members  of  the  profession  to  which  Dr.  Grey  belonged  came 
to  attend  the  funeral,  and  oificiate  as  pall-bearers. 

Seated  beside  Dr.  Grey,  on  one  of  the  sofas,  Salome's  dry 
ayes  noted  ail  that  passed  while  the  services  were  performed ; 
and,  when  the  hearse  moved  down  the  avenue,  she  took  his 
offered  arm,  and  was  placed  in  the  same  carriage. 

it  was  a  long,  dreary  drive  to  the  distant  cemetery,  and  she 
was  relieved  to  some  extent  when  they  found  themselves  at  the 
family  vault.  Miss  Jane  had  always  desired  to  be  buried  under 
the  slab  that  covered  her  brother,  and  had  directed  a  space 
left  for  that  purpose.  Now  the  marble  was  removed,  and  the 
coffins  of  Jane  and  Enoch  Grey  rested  side  by  side.  The  voice 
of  the  minister  ceased,  and  only  little  Stanley's  sobs  broke  that 
mournful  silence  which  always  ensues  while  spade  or  trowel  does 
ii:s  sad  work.  Then  the  sculptured  slab  was  replaced,  and 
br'jthei  and  sister  were  left  to  that  blessed  repos^  which  is 
^nailed  only  to  the  faithful  when  "He  giveth  His  be  love- 3 
Bleep." 


310  UNTIL  DEATH  US  Z>u   PART. 

"  Write,  '  Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in  the  Lord, 
Because  they  rest,'     .     .     .     because  their  toil  is  o'er. 
The  voice  of  weeping  shall  be  heard  no  more 
In  the  Eternal  City.     Neither  dying 
Nor  sickness,  pain  nor  sorrow,  neither  crying, 
For  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears.     Rest,  — rest" 

IB  the  death  of  his  sister,  Dr.  Grey  mourned  the  loss  cf  ins 
;>nly  mother  he  had  ever  known,  for  his  earliest  recollections 
were  of  Miss  Jane's  tender  care  and  love,  and  his  affection  was 
rather  that  of  a  devoted  son  than  brother ;  consequently,  the 
blow  was  doubly  painful:  but  he  bore  it  with  a  silent  fortitude, 
a  grave  and  truly  Christian  resignation,  that  left  an  indelible 
impression  upon  the  minds  of  Miss  Dexter  and  Muriel,  and 
taught  them  the  value  of  a  faith  that  could  bring  repose  and 
trust  in  the  midst  of  a,  trial  so  severe. 

His  continued  vigils  at  "  Solitude,"  and  the  profound  grief 
that  could  not  find  vent  in  tears  or  words,  had  printed  charac 
ters  on  his  pale,  wearied  face,  that  should  have  commanded  the 
sympathy  of  all  who  shared  liis  friendship ;  but  the  sight  of  his 
worn  features  and  the  sound  of  his  slow  step  only  embittered 
the  heart  of  the  orphan,  who  saw  in  these  evidences  of  fatigue 
and  anxiety  new  manifestations  of  affection  for  the  patient  who 
was  not  yet  entirely  beyond  danger. 

Four  days  after  the  funeral,  Dr.  Grey  came  in  to  breakfast 
later  than  usual,  having  driven  over  very  early  to  "  Solitude ; " 
and,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  received  from  Muriel's 
hand  a  cup  of  coffee,  he  leaned  forward  and  kissed  her  rosy 
cheek. 

"  Thank  you,  my  child.    You  are  very  kind  to  wait  for  me.'* 

"  How  is  that  poor  Mrs.  Gerome  ?  Will  she  never  be  well 
enough,  to  dispense  with  your  services?" 

Once,  Salome  would  have  answered,  "He  hopes  not;"  buf 
aow  she  merely  turned  her  head  a  little,  to  catch  his  reply. 

"  She  is  better  to-day  than  1  feared  I  should  find  her,  as  som* 
a/arming  symptoms  threatened  her  yesterday;  but  now  I  chink 
I  can  safely  say  the  danger  has  entirely  passed." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  311 

Muriel  hung  over  the  back  of  his  chair,  pressing  him  to  try 
afverdl  dishes  that  slm  pronounced  excellent,  but  he  gently 
refused  all  except  the  collee  ;  and,  Avhen  he  had  pushed  aside  the 
empty  cup,  he  drew  the  face  of  his  ward  close  to  his  own,  and 
murmured  a  few  words  that  deepened  the  glow  on  her  feir 
dieeks,  while  she  hastily  left  the  room  to  read  a  letter. 

1' or  some  moments  he  sat  with  his  head  resting  on  Ms  hand, 
•Junking  of  the  dear  old  face  that  usually  watched  him  from  the 
corner  of  the  tire-place,  and  of  the  kind  words  that  were 
showered  on  him  while  he  breakfasted ;  but  to-day  the  faded 
lips  were  fvozeii  forever,  and  the  dim  eyes  would  never  again 
brighten  at  his  approach. 

He  sighed,  brushed  back  the  hair  that  clustered  in  glossy 
brown  rings  on  his  forehead,  and  rose. 

"  Salome,  if  you  are  not  particularly  engaged  this  morning, 
I  should  be  glad  to  see  you  in  the  library." 

"At  what  hour?" 

"  Immediately,  if  you  are  at  leisure." 

The  orphan  put  aside  the  fold  of  crape  which  she  was  con 
verting  into  a  collar,  and  inclined  her  head  slightly. 

Since  that  brief  and  painful  interview  held  beside  Miss  Jane's 
coffin,  not  a  syllable  had  passed  between  them,  and  the  girl 
shrank  with  a  vague,  slavering  dread  from  the  impending  tete- 
a-tete. 

Silently  she  followed  the  master  of  the  house  into  the  liV  rary, 
where  Dr.  Grey  drew  two  chairs  to  the  table,  and,  when  she  had 
<«<ited  herself  in  one,  he  took  possession  of  the  other. 

Opening  a  drawer,  he  selected  several  papers  from  a  mass  of 
what  appeared  to  be  legal  documents,  and  spread  them  before 
her. 

"  J  wish  to  acquaint  you  with  the  contents  of  my  Bister's  will, 
which  I  examined  last  night.  Will  you  read  it,  or  shall  I  briefij 
estate  her  wishes  ?  " 

"  Toll  me  what  you  wish  me  to  know." 

She  swept  the  papers  into  a  pile,  and  pushed  them  away 

"  Have  you  evir  read  a  will  ?  " 

«  No,  sir." 


312  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART. 

She  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  table,  and  rested  ter  face  in  nes 
hands. 

"All  these  pages  amount  simply  to  this,  —  dear  Jane  mad« 
her  will  immediately  after  my  return  from  Europe,  and  its  pro 
risions  are:  that  this  place,  with  house,  land,  furniture,  and 
<tO(.;k,  shall  be  given  to  and  settled  upon  yoxi;  and  moreover 
f<«t,  lor  the  ensuing  five  years,  you  shall  receive  every  Januarj 
ihu  sun.  of  one  thousand  dollars.  Until  the  expiration  of  thai 
}>eriod,  she  desired  that  T  should  act  as  your  guardian.  By  re 
ference  to  the  date  and  signature  of  these  papers,  you  will  find 
that  this  will  was  made  as  soon  as  she  was  able  to  sit  up,  after  her 
illness  produced  by  pneumonia ;  but  appended  to  the  original  ia 
»  codicil,  stating  that  the  validity  of  the  distribution  of  her 
estate,  contained  in  the  former  instrument,  is  contingent  upon 
your  conduct.  Feeling  most  earnestly  opposed  to  your  con 
templated  scheme  of  going  upon  the  stage  as  a  prima  donna, 
she  solemnly  declares,  that,  if  you  persist  in  carrying  your 
decision  into  execution,  the  foregoing  provisions  shall  be  can 
celled,  and  the  house,  land,  arid  furniture  shall  be  given  to 
Jessie  and  Stanley ;  while  only  one  thousand  dollars  is  set  apart 
as  your  portion.  This  codicil  was  signed  one  month  ago." 

Dr.  Grey  glanced  over  the  sheets  of  paper,  and  refolded  them, 
allowing  his  companion  time  for  reflection  and  comment,  but 
she  remained  silent,  and  he  added,  — 

"  However  your  views  may  differ  from  those  entertained  by 
my  sister,  I  hope  you  will  not  permit  yourself,  to  doubt  that  a 
sincere  desire  to  promote  your  Life-long  happiness  prompted  th« 
oourse  she  has  pursued." 

Five  minutes  elapsed,  and  the  orphan  sat  mute  and  still. 
"  Salome,  are  you  disappointed  ?     My  dear  friend,  deal  frankly 
»ith  ire." 

She  lifted  her  pale,  quiet  face,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  mau> 
weeks,  he  saw  unshed  tears  shining  in  her  eyes,  and  glittering 
on  her  lashes. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  know  whether  Miss  Jane  consulted  you, 
in  the  preparation  of  her  will  ?  " 

"She  oonferre  1  with  me  concerning  the  will,  and  I  cordially 


DEATH  US  DO    PART. 

approved  it ;  but  of  the  codicil  I  knew  nothing,  until  her  lawyei 
—  Mr.  Lindsay — called  my  attention  to  it  yesterday  after 
noon." 

"  You  are  very  generous,  Dr.  Grey,  and  no  one  but  you 
woiild  willingly  divide  your  sister's  estate  with  paupers,  who 
have  so  long  imposed  upon  her  bounty.  I  had  no  expectation 
that  Miss  Jane  would  so  munificently  remember  me,  and  I  have 
not  deserved  the  kindness  which  she  has  lavished  on  me.  Fos 
Jessie  and  Stanley  I  gratefully  accept  her  noble  gift,  and  it  will 
place  them  far  beyond  the  possibility  of  want ;  while  the  only 
regret  of  which  I  am  conscious,  is,  that  I  feel  compelled  to 
pursue  a  career,  which  my  best,  my  only  friend  disapproved. 
In  the  name  of  poor  little  Jessie  and  Stanley,  I  thank  you,  sir, 
for  consenting  to  such  a  generous  bequest  of  property  that  is 
justly  yours.  Yoti,  who  — 

"  Pray  do  not  mention  the  matter,  for  independent  of  the 
large  legacy  left  me  by  my  sister,  my  own  fortune  is  so  ample 
that  \  deserve  no  thanks  for  willingly  sharing  that  which  I  do 
not  need.  My  little  sister,  you  must  not  rashly  decide  a  question 
which  involves  your  future  welfare,  and  I  can  not  and  will  not 
hear  your  views  ;it  present.  Take  one  week  for  calm  delibera 
tion,  weigh  the  matter  prayerfully  and  thoughtfully,  and  at  the 
expiration  of  that  time,  meet  rne  here,  and  1  will  accept  your 
decision." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  a  dreary  smile  passed  swiftly  over 
her  passionless  face. 

'  Twenty  years  of  reflection  would  not  alter,  or  in  any  degree 
bend  my  determination,  which  is  as  firmly  fixed  as  the  base 
of  the  Blue- Ridge  ;  and  — 

"  Pardon  rue,  Salome,  but,  until  the  week  has  elapsed,  I  do  not 
wish  or  intend  to  receive  your  verdict.  Before  this  day  week, 
rfvcollect  all  the  reasons  which  dear  Janet  urged  against  your 
scheme  ;  recall  the  pain  sh«  suffered  from  the  bare  contemplation 
of  such  a  possibility,  and  her  tender  pleadings  and  wise  counsel. 
Ah,  Salome,  you  are  young  and  impulsive,  but  1  trust  ycu  will 
not  close  ^rour  ears  against  vour  brother's  earnest  protest  and 
appeal.  I  f  L  were  not  sincerely  attached  to  yr  i,  1  should  not 
27 


314  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

so  persistently  oppose  your  favorite  plan,  which  is  fraught  with 
perils  and  annoyances  that  yon  can  not  now  realize.  Hush! 
I  will  not  listen  to  you  to-day." 

He  rose,  and  laying  his  hands  softly  on  her  head,  added,  in  a 
olemn  but  tremulously  tender  tone,  — 

"And  may  God  in  His  infinite  wisdom  and  mercy  overrule 
all  things  for  your  temporal  and  eternal  welfare,  and  BO  guide 
your  decision,  that  peace  and  usefulness  will  be  your  portion, 
now  and  forever." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ES,    Dr.  Grey,  I  am  better  than  I  ever  expected  01 

desired  to  be  in  this  world." 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  this  is  scarcely  the  recompense 
that  niy  anxious  vigilance  and  ceaseless  exertions  merit  at  your 
hands." 

The  invalid  leaned  far  back  in  her  cushioned  easy  chair,  and,  as 
the  physician  rested  his  arm  on  the  mantel-piece  and  looked  down 
at  her,  he  thought  of  the  lines  that  had  more  than  once  recurred 
to  his  mind,  since  the  commencement  of  their  acquaintance,  — 

"  What  finely  carven  features '     Yes;  but  carved 
From  Borne  clear  stuff,  not  like  a  woman's  fleslx, 
And  colored  like  half -faded  white-rose  leaves. 
'Tis  all  too  tbin,  and  wan,  and  wanting  blood, 
To  take  my  taste.     No  fulness,  and  no  flush  I 
A  watery  half -moon  in  a  wintry  sky 
Looks  less  uncomfortably  cold.     And  .  .  .  well, 
I  never  in  the  eyes  of  a  sane  woman 
Saw  such  a  strange,  unsatisfied  regard." 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  grateful  to  you,  Dr.  Grey,  for  Katie 
and  Robert  1  ave  told  me  how  patiently  and  carefully  you  nursed 
and  watched  over  me,  during  my  illness ;  but  instead  of  grati- 


UJNTJL   DEATH    US  DO  PART.  315 

fc:.de,  1  Di.i.1  it  difficult  to  forgive  you  for  what  you  have  done. 
You  farmed  into  a  flame  the  spark  of  life  that  was  smoul 
dering  mid  expiring,  and  bafl'ed  the  disease  that  came  to  me  as  the 
bund  maid  of  Mercy.  Death,  transformed  into  an  angel  of  pity, 
Idndlv  opened  the  door  of  escape  from  the  woe  and  weariness  of 
!:>is  sin -cursed  world,  into  the  calmness  and  dreamless  rest  of  t.Lt? 
:ist  shoreless  Beyond;  and  just  when  I  was  passing  through 
you  si  latched  me  back  to  my  burdens  and  my  bitter  lot.  I  know, 
of  conrsv  ,  that  you  intended  only  kindness,  but  you  must  noi 
blame  me  if  \  fail  to  thank  you." 

"  You  forget  that  lii'e  is  intended  as  a  season  of  fiery  proba 
tion,  and  that  without  suffering  there  is  no  purification,  and 
no  reward.  Remember,  'Calm  is  not  life's  crown,  though  calm 
is  well ; '  and  those  who  forego  the  pain  must  forego  the 
palm."  ' 

"1  would  gladly  iorego  all  things  for  a  rest,  —  asleep  that 
could  know  no  end.  Katie  tells  me  I  have  been  ill  a  month, 
and  from  this  brief  season  of  oblivion  you  have  dragged  me  back 
to  the  existence  that  I  abhor.  Dr.  Grey,  1  feel  to-day  as  poor 
IViaxmce  de,  Gu6rin  felt,  when  he  wrote  from  Le  Val,  'My  fate 
has  knocked  at  the  door  to  recall  me;  for  she  had  not  gone  OB 
her  way,  but  had  seated  herself  upon  the  threshold,  waiting  until  I 
had  recovered  siifficient  strength  to  resume  my  journey.  "Thou 
hast  tarried  long  enough,"  said  she  to  me ;  "  come  forward  !  " 
And  she  has  taken  me  by  the  hand,  and  behold  her  again  on  the 
march,  like  those  poor  women  one  meets  on  the  road,  leading  a 
child  who  follows  with  a  sorrowful  air.'  " 

"There  is  a  better  guide  provided,  if  you  would  only  accept 
Slid  yield  to  his  ministrations.  For  the  flint-faced  fate  that  you 
accuse  so  virulently,  substitute  that  tender  and  loving  gu*tr«'iia> 
'An*  Angel  of  Patience. 

'  To  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  home*, 
God's  meekest  Angel  gently  comes. 

There's  quiet  hi  that  Angel's  glance. 
There's  rest  in  his  still  countenance ! 


316  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

The  ills  and  woes  he  may  not  cure 
He  kindly  trains  us  to  endure. 

He  walks  with  thee,  that  Angel  kind, 
And  geutly  whispers,  '  Be  resigned.  ' 

A  moment  since,  you  quoted  De  Guerin,  and  perhaps  you  may 
recollect  one  of  his  declarations,  '  I  have  no  shelter  but  resig 
nation,  and  I  run  to  it  in  great  haste,  all  trembling  and  dis 
tracted.  Resignation  !  It  is  the  burrow  hollo"wed  in  the  cleft  of 
some  rock,  which  gives  shelter  to  the  nying  and  long-hunted 
prey.'  You  will  never  find  peace  for  your  heart  and  soul  unti 
you  bring  your  will  into  complete  subjection  to  that  of  Hiir 
'  who  doeth  all  things  well.'  Defiance  and  rebellious  struggles 
only  aggravate  your  sorrows  and  trials." 

She  listened  to  the  deep,  quiet  voice,  as  some  unlettered  savage 
might  hearken  to  the  rhythmic  music  of  Homer,  soothed  by  the 
tones,  yet  incapable  of  comprehending  their  import;  and  as  she 
looked  up  at  the  grave,  kingly  face,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  broad 
band  of  crape  that  encircled  his  straw  hat,  which  had  been  hastily 
placed  on  the  mantel-piece. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  you  ought  to  speak  advisedly,  for  Robert  told  me 
that  you  had  recently  lost  your  sister,  and  that  you  are  now  alone 
in  the  woi-ld.  You,  who  have  severe  afflictions,  should  know 
how  far  resignation  lightens  them.  I  was  much  pained  to  learn 
that  your  sister  died  while  you  were  absent,  —  while  you  were 
sitting  up  with  me.  Ah,  sir  !  you  ought  to  have  watched  ker, 
and  left  me  to  my  release.  You  have  been  very  kind  and  con 
siderate  toward  one  who  has  no  claim  upon  aught  but  your  pity  ; 
and  ]  would  gladly  lie  down  in  your  sister's  grave,  and  give  her 
back  to  your  heart  and  home." 

Her  oour.  tenance  softened  for  an  instant,  and  she  held  out  her 
land.  He  took  the  delicate  fingers  in  his,  and  pressed  them 


"God  gmnt  that  your  life  may  be  spared,  -intil  all  loubt  and 
bitterness  is  removed  from  your  heart.,  and  that  when  you  gc 
down  into  the  gra^e  it  may  be  as  bright  with  the  blessed  faith 
>f  a  Christian  as  that  which  now  contain?  mv  sister  Janet.  Do 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  317 

cot,  allow  the  gloom  of  earthly  disappointment  to  cloud  your 
••rust,  but  bear  always  iu  mind  those  cheering  words  of  Saudi,  — 

'Saya  God,  ''Who  conies  towards  me  an  inch  through  doubtiuga  dun, 
In  blazing  light  I  do  approach  a,  yard  towards  him. '  " 

"If  I  am  to  be  kept  in  tliLs  world  until  all  the  bitterness  it- 
fccourged  out  of  me,  .1  might  as  well  re-sign  myself  to  a  career  a.a 
endless  us  that  of  Ahasuerus.  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  have  been  forcrd 
to  drink  out  of  quassia-cups  until  my  whole  being  has  imbibed 
thu  bitter;  and  I  am  like  that  tree  to  which"Firdousi  compared 
Mahmoud,  'Whose  nature  is  so  bitter,  that  were  you  to  plan 
it  iu  the  garden  of  Eden,  and  water  it  with  the  ambrosial  stream 
of  Paradise,  and  were  you  to  enrich  its  roots  with  virgin  honey, 
t  would,  after  all,  discover  its  innate  disposition,  and  only  yield 
:he  acrid  fruit  it  had  ever  borne.' " 

"  What  right  have  you  to  expect  that  existence  should  prove 
one  continued  gala-season?  When  Christ  went  down  meekly 
into  Gethsemane,  that  such  as  you  and  1  might  win  a  place  id 
the  Eternal  City,  how  dare  you  demand  exemption  from  grief 
and  pain,  that  Jesus,  your  Cod,  did  not  spare  Himself?  Are 
you  purer  than  Christ,  and  wiser  than  the  Almighty,  that 
you  impiously  deride  and  question  their  code  for  the  govern 
ment  of  the  Universe,  in  which  individual  lives  seem  trivial  as 
the  sands  of  the  desert,  or  the  leaves  of  the  forest  ?  Oh  !  it  ia 
pitiable,  inueed,  to  see  some  worm  writhing  in  the  dust,  and 
blasphemously  dictating  laws  to  Him  who  swung  suns  and 
asterisius  in  space,  and  breathed  into  its  own  feeble  fragment  of 
clay  the  spark  that  enabled  it,  to  insult  its  God.  Put  away 
such  unwomanly  scoffing,  —  such  irreverent  puerilities ;  sweep 
your  soul  clean  of  all  such  wretched  rubbish,  and  when  you  fee? 
tempted  to  repine  at  your  lot,  recollect  the  noble  admonition  jf 
Dschelaleddin,  'If  this  world  were  our  abiding-place,  we  jiight 
complain  that  it  makes  our  bed  BO  hard ;  but  it  is  only  out 
night-quarters  on  a  journey,  and  who  can  expect  home 
comforts  ? ' " 

"I  can  not  fee.  resigned  to  my  lot.  It  is  too  hard,  —  too 
,-jijust,'1 

27" 


318  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"Mrs.  Gerome,  are  you  more  just  and  prescient  than 
Jehovah?" 

She  passed  her  thin  hand  across  her  face,  and  was  silent,  for 
his  voice  and  manner  awed  her.  After  a  little  while,  she  sat 
erect  in  her  chair,  and  tried  to  rise 

"  Doctor,  if  you  could  look  down  into  the  gray  ruins  of  my 
heart,  yoii  would  not  reprove  me  so  harshly.  My  whole  being 
seems  in  some  cold  eclipse,  and  my  soul  is  like  the  Sistine 
Chapel  in  Passion-week,  where  all  is  shrouded  in  shadow,  and 
no  sounds  are  heard  but  Misereres  and  Teiieurse." 

"  Promise  me  that  in  future  you  will  try  to  keep  it  like  that 
Christian  temple,  pure  and  inviolate  from  all  imprecations  and 
rebellious  words.  If  gloom  there  must  be,  see  to  it  that  resigna 
tion  seals  your  lips.  What  are  you  trying  to  do?  You  are 
not  strong  enough  to  walk  alone." 

"  1  want  to  go  into  the  parlor,  —  I  want  my  piano.  Yesterday 
I  attempted  to  cross  the  room,  and  only  Katie's  presence  saved 
me  from  a  severe  fall." 

She  stood  by  her  chair,  grasping  the  carved  back,  and  Dr. 
Grey  stepped  forward,  and  drew  her  arm  under  his. 

In  her  great  weakness  she  leaned  upon  him,  and  when  they 
reached  the  parlor  door,  she  paused  and  almost  panted. 

"  You  must  not  attempt  to  play,  —  you  are  too  feeble  ever 
to  sit  up  longer.  Let  me  take  you  back  to  your  room." 

"No,  —  no!  Let  me  alone.  I  know  best  what  is  good  for 
me ;  and  I  tell  you  my  piano  is  my  only  Paraclete." 

Holding  his  arm  for  support,  she  drew  a  chair  instead  of  tha 
piano-stool  to  the  instrument,  and  seated  herself. 

Dr.  Grey  raised  the  lid,  and  waited  some  seconds,  expecting 
her  to  play,  but  she  sat  still  and  mute,  and  presently  he  stooped 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  countenance. 

"  I  want  to  see  Elsie's  grave.     Open  the  blinds." 

He  threw  open  the  shutters,  and  came  back  to  the  piano. 

Through  the  window,  the  group  of  deodars  was  visible,  and 
there,  bathed  in  the  mild  yellow  sunshine  was  the  mound,  and 
the  faded  wreath  swinging  in  the  breeze. 

For  many  minutes   Mrs.   Gerome    gazed    at  the  quic»t  gpot 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  31S 

where  her  nnrse  rested,  and  with  her  eyes  still  on  the  grave, 
her  fingers  struck  into  Chopin's  Funeral  March. 

After  a  while.  Dr.  Grey  noticed  a  slight  quiver  cross  her  pale 
lips,  and  when  the  mournful  music  reached  its  saddest  chords, 
a  mist  veiled  the  steely  eyes,  and  very  soon  tears  rolled  slowly 
down  her  cheeks. 

The  march  ended,  she  did  not  pause,  but  began  Mozart's 
Requiem,  and  all  the  while  that  slow  rain  of  tears  dripped 
down  on  her  white  fingers,  and  splashed  upon  the  ivory  keys. 

Dr.  Grev  was  so  rejoiced  at  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  that 
had  long  frozen  the  fountain  of  her  tears,  that  he  made  no 
attempt  to  interrupt  her,  until  he  saw  that  she  tottered  in 
her  chair.  Taking  her  hands  from  the  piano,  he  said  gently,  — 

"  You  are  quite  exhausted,  and  1  can  not  permit  this  to 
continue.  Come  back  to  your  room." 

"  No ;  let  me  stay  here.  Put  me  on  the  sofa  in  the  oriel,  and 
leave  the  blinds  open." 

He  lifted  her  from  the  chair  and  led  her  to  the  sofa,  where 
she  sank  heavily  down  upon  the  cushions. 

Without  comment  or  resistance,  she  drank  a  glass  of  strong 
cordial  which  he  held  to  her  lips,  and  lay  with  her  eyes  closed, 
while  tears  still  trickled  through  the  long  jet  lashes. 

She  wore  a  robe  of  white  merino,  and  a  rich  blue  shawl  of 
the  same  soft  material  which  was  folded  across  her  shoulders, 
made  the  wan  face  look  like  some  marble  seraph's,  hovering  over 
an  altar  where  violet  light  streams  through  stained  glass. 

For  some  time  Dr.  Grey  walked  up  and  down  the  long  room, 
w-anciug  now  and  then  at  his  patient,  and  when  he  saw  that  the 
tears  had  ceased,  he  brought  from  a  basket  in  the  hall  an  ex 
quisitely  beautiful  and  fragrant  bouquet  of  the  flowers  which 
he  k;ie\v  she  loved  best, — heliotrope,  \iolets,  tube-rose,  «jid 
• :-r.-m<!-Duke  jessamine,  {ringed  daintily  with  spicy  geraiuum 
i.vivi's,  and  scarlet  fuchsias. 

Silently  he  placed  it  on  her  folded  hands,  and  the  expression 
of  surprise  and  pleasure  that  suddenly  lighted  her  countenance, 
amply  repaid  him.. 

"Dr.  Grey,  it  has  neen  my  wish  to  except  services  frsm  no 


320  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

one, —  to  owe  no  human  being  thanks;  but  your  unvarying 
kindness  to  my  poor  Elsie  and  to  me,  imposes  a  debt  of  grati 
tude  that  I  can  not  easily  liquidate.  I  fear  you  are  destined  tc 
bankrupt  me,  for  how  can  I  hope  to  repay  all  your  thoughtful, 
delicate  care,  and  generous  interest  in  a  stranger '?  Tell  me  JJP 
t?hat  way  1  can  adequately  requite  you." 

Dr.  Grey  drew  a  chair  close  to  tne  sofa,  and  answered,  — 

"  Take  care  lest  your  zeal  prove  the  contrary,  for  you  knew  » 
distinguished  philosopher  asserts  that,  '  Too  great  eagerness  to 
requite  an  obligation  is  a  species  of  ingratitude ; '  and  such  an 
accusation  would  be  unflattering  to  you,  and  unpleasant  to 
me." 

Turning  the  bouquet  around  in.  order  to  examine  and  admire 
each  flower,  Mrs.  Gerome  toyed  with  the  velvet  bells,  and  said, 
sorrowfully,  — 

"  Their  delicious  perfume  always  reminds  me  of  my  beautiful 
home  near  Funchal,  where  heliotrope  and  geraniums  grew  so 
tall  that  they  looked  in  at  my  window,  and  hedges  of  fuchsias 
bordered  my  garden  walks.  Never  have  I  seen  elsewhere  such 
profusion  and  perfection  of  flowers." 

"  When  were  you  in  Madeira  ?  " 

"  Two  years  ago.  The  villa  I  occupied  was  situated  on  the 
side  of  a  mountain,  whose  base  -vas  covered  with  vineyards ; 
and  from  a  grove  of  lemon  and  oleanders  that  stood  in  front  of 
the  house  I  could  see  the  surging  Atlantic  at  my  feet,  and 
the  crest  of  the  mountain  clothed  with  chestnuts,  high  above 
and  beliind  me.  In  one  corner  of  my  vineyard  stood  a  solitary 
jHilm,  which  tradition  asserted  was  planted  when  Zarco  discov 
ered  the  island ;  and  the  groves  of  orange,  citron,  and  pome 
granate  trees  were  always  peopled  with  humming-birds,  and 
flocks  of  green  canaries.  There,  surrounded  by  grand  and 
picturesque  scenery  of  which  I  never  wearied,  I  resolved  to  live 
and  die ;  but  Elsie's  desire  to  return  to  America,  which  held  the 
ashes  of  her  husband  and  child,  overruled  my  inclination 
and  the  dictates  of  judgment,  ami  reluctantly  I  left  my  mountain 
Eden  and  came  here.  Now,  when  I  smell  violets  and  heliotrope, 
regret  mingles  with  their  arcma;  and,  after  all,  the  sacrifice  waa 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  >2J 

in  vain,  and  Elsie  would  have  slept  as  caimly  there,  urdr  palm 
and  chestnut,  as  yonder,  where  th«  deodar-shadows  fall." 

"  Is  your  life  here  a  faithful  transcript  of  that  portion  of  it 
passed  at  Funchal  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  except  tha,t  there  1  saw  no  human  being  but  the 
servants,  who  transacted  any  business  that  demanded  interviewn 
«dth  the  consul." 

"  It  was  fortunate  that  Elsie's  wise  counsel  prevailed  over 
your  caprice,  for  many  of  your  griefs  proceed  from  the  complete 
isolation  to  which  you  so  strangely  doom  yourself;  and  until  you 
become  a  useful  member  of  that  society  you  are  so  fully  fitted 
to  adorn  and  elevate,  you  need  not  hope  or  expect  the  peace  of 
mind  that  results  only  from  the  consciousness  of  having  nobly 
discharged  the  sacred  obligations  to  God,  and  to  your  race. 
'  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,'  was  the  solemn  admonition  of 
Him  who  sublimely  bore  the  burdens  of  an  entire  world. 
Now  tell  me,  have  you  ever  stretched  out  a  finger  to  aid  the 
toiling  multitudes  whose  cry  for  help  wails  over  even  the 
most  prosperous  lands  ?  What  have  you  done  to  strengthen 
trembling  hands,  or  comfort  and  gladden  oppressed  hearts? 
How  dare  you  hoard  within  your  own  home  the  treasure  of 
fortune,  talent,  and  sympathy,  which  were  temporarily  entrusted 
to  your  hands,  to  be  sown  broadcast  in  noble  charities,  —  to  be 
judiciously  invested  in  promoting  the  cause  of  Truth  in  the 
fierce  war  Evil  wages  against  it?  Hitherto  you  have  lived 
solely  for  yourself,  which  is  a  sin  against  humanity ;  and  have 
pampered  a  morbid  and  rebellious  spirit,  that  is  a  grievous 
sin  against  your  God.  Shake  off  jour  lethargy  and  cynicism, 
«nd  let  a  busy  future  redeem  a  vagrant  and  worthless  past. 
'He  that  f/oeth  forth  and  weepeth,  bearing  precious  seed,  sludl 
doubtless  come  again  icitk  rejoicing,  bringing  hi«  sheaves  milk 
him?  " 

The  flowers  dropped  on  her  bosom,  and,  ciasping  Iier  honds 
across  her  forehead,  she  turned  her  lace  towards  the  sea,  and 
Boomed  pondering  his  words. 

"Dr.  Grey,  my  purse  has  always  been  open  to  the  needy,  and 
Elsie  was  my  almoner  Whenever  vou  find  a  destitute  family. 


322  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

or  hear  an  appeal  for  help,  I  shall  gladly  respond,  and  conufcitut* 
you  the  agent  for  the  distribution  of  niy  charity-funa  As  for 
bearing  the  sorrows  of  others,  pray  excuse  me.  1  am  so 
weighed  down  with  my  own  burdens  that  I  have  no  strength 
or  leisure  to  spare  to  my  neighbors,  and  since  I  ask  uo  aid, 
must  not  be  censured  for  rendering  none.  It  is  utterly  useless 
to  urge  me  to  enter  society,  for  like  that  sad  pilgrim  in  Brit 
tany,  '  In  losing  solitude  I  lose  the  half  of  my  soul.  1  go  out 
into  the  world  with  a  secret  horror.  When  I  withdraw,  ] 
gather  together  and  lock  up  my  scattered  treasure,  but  I  put 
away  my  ideas  sorely  handled,  like  fruits  fallen  from  the  tree 
upon  stones.'  No  no ;  in  seclusion  I  find  the  only  modicum 
of  peace  that  earth  can  ever  yield  me,  and  can  readily  under 
stand  why  Chateaubriand  avoided  those  crowds  which  he 
denominated,  '  The  vast  desert  of  men.'  " 

"  You  must  not  be  offended,  if,  in  reply,  I  remind  you  of  the 
rude  but  vigorous  words  of  that  prince  of  cynics,  Schopen 
hauer,  '  Society  is  a  fire  at  which  the  wise  man  from  a  prudent 
distance  warms  himself;  not  plunging  into  it,  like  the  fool  who 
after  getting  well  blistered,  rushes  into  the  coldness  of  solitude, 
and  complains  that  the  fire  burns.'  Of  the  two  evils,  reckless 
dissipation  and  gloomy  isolation,  the  latter  is  probably  an 
economy  of  sin ;  but  sinoe  neither  is  inevitable,  we  should  all 
endeavor  to  render  ourselves  useful  members  of  society,  and 
unfurl  over  our  circle  the  banner  of  St.  Paul,  '  Use  this  world 
as  not  abusing  it.'  Mrs.  Geronie,  do  not  obstinately  mar  the 
present  .xnd  future,  by  brooding  bitterly  over  the  trials  of  the 
ptu*t ;  but  try  to  believe  that,  indeed,  — 

Sorrows  humanize  our  race ; 
Tears  are  the  showers  that  fertilize  this  world, 
And  memory  of  thing's  precious  keepeth  warm 
The  heart  that  once  did  hold  them. ' " 

Ho  watched  her  eagerly  yet  gravely,  hoping  that  her  face 
would  soften ;  but  she  raised  her  hand  with  a  proud,  impatient 
aiotion. 

"  You   talk   at   random,   concerning   matters  of  which    yov 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAliT.  323 

know  nDthing.  I  hate  the  world  and  have  abjured  it,  and  yon 
might  as  well  sro  down  yonder  and  harangue  tin;  ocean  on  tin? 
sin  of  its  ceaseless  muttering,  as  expect  to  remodel  my  aimless, 
blank  life." 

Pained  and  disappointed,  he  remained  silent,  and,  as  if  con 
s'.ioos  of  a  want  of  courtesy,  she  added, — 

"  Do  not  allow  your  generous  heart  to  be  disquieted  oiling 
account,  but  leave  me  to  a  fate  which  can  not  be  changed,— 
which  I  have  endured  seven  years,  and  must  bear  to  my  grave 
Now  that  you  see  how  desolate  1  am,  pity  me,  and  bo  silent." 

"It  will  be  difficult  for  you  to  regain  your  strength  here, 
where  so  ma^y  mournful  associations  surround  you,  and  I  came 
to-day  to  beg  you  to  take  a  trip  somewhere,  by  sea  or  land. 
Almost  any  change  of  scene  and  air  will  materially  benefit  you, 
and  you  need  not  be  absent  more  than  a  few  weeks.  Will  you 
take  tlve  matter  under  consideration?" 

"No,  sir;  why  should  I?  Can  hills  or  waves,  dells  or 
lakes,  cure  a  mind  which  you  assure  me  is  diseased ?  Can  sea 
breeze  or  mountain  air  fan  out  recollections  that  have  jaundiced 
the  heart,  or  furnish  an  opiate  that  will  effectually  deaden 
and  quiet  regret?  I  long  ago  tried  your  remedy  —  travelling, 
and  for  four  years  I  wandered  up  and  down,  and  over  the  face 
of  the  old  world;  but  amid  the  crumbliiag  columns  of  Persepolis, 
I  was  still  Agla  Gerome,  the  wretched;  and  when  1  stood 
on  the  margin  of  the  Lake  of  Wnn,  T  saw  in  its  waves  the  re 
flection  of  the  same  hopeless  woman  who  now  lies  before  you. 
Change  of  external  surroundings  is  futile,  and  no  more  affect* 
'.he  soul  than  the  roar  of  surface-surf  changes  the  hollows  ^f  AS. 
•>certJi  bed  whe.-e  the  dead  sleep;  and.  verily, — 

'  My  heart  is  a  dreai  Golgotha,  where  all  the  ground  is  white 
With  the  wrecks  of  joys  that  have  perished, — tho  skeletons  of  delight'* 

He  saw  that  in  her  present  mood  expostulation  would  only 
aggravate  ".he  rvil  he  longed  to  correct,  and  hoping  to  divert  tin' 
current  <>f  her  thoughts,  he  said, — 

"  1  trust  you  will  not  deem  me  impertinei)',ly  curious  if  I  a-sk 
what  singular  fVeak  bestowed  upon  you  the  name  of  'Agin'?*" 


324  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

A  startling  change  swept  over  her  features,  and  her  tone  WBJI 
haughtily  challenging. 

"  What  interest  can  Dr.  Grey  find  in  a  matter  so  trivial  ?  If 
I  were  named  Hecate  or  Persephone,  would  the  world  have  a 
right  to  demur,  to  complain,  or  to  criticise  ?  " 

"  When  a  lady  bears  the  mystic  name,  which,  in  past  ages,  wat 
given  to  the  Deity,  by  a  race  who,  if  superstitious,  -were  at 
least  devout  and  reverent,  she  should  not  be  surprised  if  ii 
excites  wonder  and  comment.  Forgive  me,  however,  if  my  in 
quiry  annoyed  you." 

He  rose  and  took  his  hat,  but  her  hand  caught  his  arm. 

"  Do  you  know  the  import  of  the  word  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  understand  the  significance  of  the  letters,  and  the 
wonderful  power  attributed  to  them  when  arranged  in  the  trian 
gles  and  called  the  '  Shield  of  David.'  Knowing  that  it  was 
considered  talismanic,  I  could  not  imagine  why  you  were  christ 
ened  with  so  mystical  a  name.'* 

"I  was  never  christened." 

He  could  not  explain  the  confusion  and  displeasure  which  the 
question  excited,  and  anxious  to  relieve  her  of  any  feeling  of 
annoyance,  he  added, — 

"  Have  you  ever  looked  into  the  nature  of  the  AglfjOpJiotw  f  " 

She  struggled  up  from  her  cushions,  and  exclaimed,  with  a 
vehemence  that  startled  him, — 

"What  induced  you  to  examine  it?  I  know  that  it  is  a 
strange  plant,  growing  out  of  solid  marble,  and  accounted  a 
rharm  by  Arab  magicians.  Well,  Dr.  Grey,  do  not  I  belong 
to  that  species?  You  see  before  you  a  human  specimen  of 
Aylaophotis,  growing  out  of  a  marble  heart." 

Sometimes  an  exaggerated  whimsicality  trenches  so  closely 
npon  insanity,  that  it  is  difficult  to  discriminate  between  them ; 
aud,  as  Dr.  Grey  noted  the  peculiarly  cold  glitter  of  her  large 
eyes,  and  the  restless  movement  of  her  usually  quiet  handa, 
he  dreaded  that  the  crushing  weight  on  her  heart  would  ulti- 
aiately  impair  her  mind.  Now  he  abruptly  changed  the  topic. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  whenever  ic  is  agreeable  to  you  to  drive  down 
**«  beach  or  across  the  woods  and  among  tie  hills,  it  ndU 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART.  325 

afford  lite  much  pleasi  re  to  place  my  horse,  ouggy,  and  myself 
at  yotr  disposal ;  and,  in  fine  weather  like  this,  a  driva  of  a  few 
miles  would  invigorate  you." 

"  Thank  you.  I  shall  not  trouble  you,  for  I  have  my  lo 
3%\img  easy  carriage,  and  my  grays  —  my  fatal  grays.  Ah  if 
iL'ey  would  only  serve  me  as  they  did  iny  poor  Elsie!  ^/^ea 
I  am  strong  enough  to  take  the  reins,  I  will  allow  th  win  an 
opportunity.  Dr.  Grey,  if  I  seem  rude,  forgive  me.  frm  are 
vrry  kind  and  singularly  patient,  and  sometimes  wher  you  have 
I<  ft  me,  I  feel  ashamed  of  my  inability  to  prove  my  sincere 
appreciation  of  your  goodness.  For  these  beautiful  flowers,  I 
thank  you  cordially." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and,  as  he  accepted  it,  he  drew  from 
his  pocket  the  silver  key  which  he  had  so  carefully  preserved. 

"  Accident  made  me  the  custodian  of  this  key,  which  I  found 
on  the  iloor  the  day  of  Elsie's  burial.  Knowing  that  it  belonged 
to  your  escritoire,  whence  1  saw  you  take  it,  I  thought  it  best 
not  to  commit  it  to  a  servant's  care,  and  have  kept  it  in  my 
pocket  until  I  thought  you  might  need  it." 

Although  the  room  was  growing  dim,  he  detected  the  expres 
sion  of  dread  that  crossed  her  countenance,  and  saw  her  bite  her 
thin  lip  with  vexation. 

"  You  have  worn  for  one  month  the  key  of  my  desk,  where  lie 
all  my  papers  and  records;  and  when  I  was  so  desperately  ill,  I 
presume  you  looked  into  the  drawers,  merely  to  ascertain  whether 
I  had  prepared  my  will  ?  " 

The  mockery  of  her  tone  stung  him  keenly,  but  he  allowed  no 
evidence  of  the  wound  to  escape  him.  Bending  over  her  as  she 
sat  partially  erect,  supported  by  cushions,  he  took  her  white  face 
tenderly  in  his  hands,  and  said,  very  calmly  and  gently,  — 

**  When  you  know  me  better,  you  will  realize  how  groundless 
i.J  your  apprehension  that  I  have  penetrated  into  the  recesses  of 
jour  writing-desk.  Knowing  that  it  contained  valuable  papers, 
I  guarded  it  as  jealously  as  you  could  have  done;  and,  upon  tha 
honor  of  a  gentleman,  I  assure  you  I  am  as  ignorant  of  its  con 
tents  as  if  1  had  never  entered  the  house.  When  I  consider  it 
essential  to  my  peace  of  mind  to  become  acquainted  with  youi 
28 


326  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART. 

antecedents,  I  shall  come  to  you  and  ask  what  I  desire  to  learn. 
While  you  were  so  ill,  1  told  Robert  that  your  friends  should  b« 
notified  of  your  imminent  danger,  and  inqxiired  of  him  whether 
y:;m  had  made  a  will,  as  I  deemed  it  my  duty  to  inform  your 
»se:it  of  your  alarming  condition.  He  either  could  not  or  would 
not  give  me  any  satisfactory  reply,  and  there  the  matter  ended 
When  I  am  gone,  do  not  reproach  yourself  for  having  so  unjustly 
impugned  my  motives,  for  I  shall  not  allow  myself  to  believe 
that  you  really  entertain  so  contemptible  an  opinion  of  me;  and 
ghall  ascribe  your  hasty  accusation  to  mere  momentary  chagrin 
and  pique." 

"  Ah,  sir !  you  ought  not  to  wonder  that  I  am  so  suspicious ; 
you  —  but  how  can  you  understand  the  grounds  of  my  distrust, 
unless  —  " 

"  Hush !  We  will  not  discuss  a  matter  which  can  only  excite 
and  annoy  you.  Mrs.  Gerome,  under  all  circumstances  you  may 
unhesitatingly  trust  me,  and  I  beg  to  assure  you  I  shall  never 
divulge  anything  confided  to  me.  You  need  a  friend,  and  per 
haps  some  day  you  may  consider  me  worthy  to  serve  you  in  that 
capacity  ;  meantime,  as  your  physician,  I  shall  continue  to  watch 
over  and  control  you.  To-day  you  have  cruelly  overtasked  your 
exhausted  system,  and  I  can  not  permit  you  to  remain  here  any 
'onger.  Come  immediately  to  your  own  room." 

His  manner  was  so  quietly  authoritative  that  she  obeyed 
instantly,  and  when  he  lifted  her  from  the  sofa,  she  took  his  arm, 
and  walked  towards  the  door.  Before  they  had  crossed  the  hall, 
he  felt  her  reel  and  lean  more  heavily  against  him,  and  sileutlj 
he  took  the  ^iiin  form  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  to  her  room. 

The  gray  head  was  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  cold  marble  cheek 
touched  his,  as  he  laid  her  softly  down  on  her  bed  and  arranged 
her  j-illows.  He  rang  for  Katie,  and,  in  crossing  the  floor, 
stepped  on  something  hard,  it  was  too  dusky  in  the  closely 
curtained  apartment  to  see  any  object  so  small,  but  he  swept 
his  hand  across  the  carpet  and  picked  up  the  key  that  had 
slipped  from  her  nerveless  fingers.  Placing  it  beside  her,  ha 
eroiled  and  said,  — 

"  You  are  incorrigibly  careless.     Are  you  not  afraid  ts  tax 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  327 

my  curiosity  so  severely,  and  tempt  me  so  pertinaciously,  bj 
stressing  your  keys  in  my  path.?  The  next  time  I  pick  up  this 
one,  \vhich  belongs  to  your  escritoire,  I  shall  engage  some  one  to 
act  as  your  guardian.  Katie,  be  sure  she  takes  that  tonir 
mixture  three  times  a  day.  Good-night." 

When  the  sound  of  his  retreating  footsteps  died  away,  Mrs 
Geronie  thrust  the  key  under  her  pillow,  and  murmured,  — 

"  1  wonder  whether  this  Ulpian  can  be  as  true,  as  trusty,  as 
nobly  fearless  as  his  grand  old  Roman  namesake,  whom  not  even 
the  purple  of  Severus  could  save  from  martyrdom  ?  Ah  !  if 
Ulpian  Grey  is  really  all  that  he  appears.  But  how  dare  I 
hope,  much  less  believe  it  ?  Verily,  he  reminds  me  of  Madame 
de  Chatenay's  description  of  Joubert,  '  He  seems  to  be  a  soul 
that  by  accident  had  met  with  a  body,  and  tried  to  make  the  best 
of  it.' " 

"  Did  you  speak  to  me,  ma'am  ? "  asked  Katie,  who  was 
Dustling  about,  preparing  to  light  the  lamp. 

"  No.  The  room  is  like  a  tomb.  Open  the  blinds  and  loop 
oack  all  the  curtains,  so  that  I  can  look  out." 

1 '  And  the  sunset  paled,  and  warmed  once  more 
With  a  softer,  tenderer  after-glow ; 
In  the  east  was  moon-rise,  with  boats  off-shore 
And  sails  in  the  distance  drifting  slow." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

GREY,    sister  says  she  wants  to  see  you, 

before  vou  E;O  to  town." 

• 
Jessie  Owen  came   softly  lip  to  the  table  whf.rs 

Dr.  Grey  sat  writing,  and  stood  with  her  hand  on  his  knee. 

"  Very  well.     Tell  sister  I  will  come  to  her  as  isocn  as  I  finis}? 
this  letter.     Where  is  she?" 

M  hi  tho  library." 


328  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

"  In  ten  minutes  I  shall  be  at  leisure." 

He  found  Salome  with  a  piece  of  sewing  in  her  hand,  and  lie; 
young  sister  leaning  on  her  lap,  chattering  merrily  about  * 
nest  full  of  eggs  which  she  and  Stanley  had  found  that  morning 
in  a  corner  of  the  orchard ;  while  the  latter  swung  on  the  back 
of  her  chair,  winding  over  his  finger  a  short  curl  that  lay  on  her 
neck.  It  was  a  pleasant,  peaceful,  homelike  picture,  worthy  of 
Eastman  Johnson's  brush,  and  for  thirty  years  such  a  group  had 
not  been  seen  in  that  quiet  old  library. 

Dr.  Grey  paused  at  the  threshold,  to  admire  the  graceful  pose 
of  Jessie's  fairy  figure, —  the  lazy  nonchalance  of  Stanley's  pos 
ture,  —  and  the  finely  shaped  head  that  rose  above  both,  like 
some  stately  lily,  surrounded  by  clustering  crcci ;  but  Salome 
was  listening  for  his  footsteps,  and  turned  her  head  at  his 
entrance. 

"  Stanley,  take  Jessie  up  to  my  room,  and  show  her  your 
Chinese  puzzle.  When  I  want  either  or  both  of  you,  I  will  call 
you.  Close  the  door  after  you,  and  mind  that  you  do  not  get  to 
romping,  and  shake  the  house  down." 

"  How  very  pretty  Jessie  has  grown  during  the  last  year. 
Her  complexion  has  lost  its  muddy  tinge,  and  is  almost  waxen," 
said  the  doctor,  when  the  children  had  left  the  room  and  scam 
pered  up  stairs. 

"  She  is  a  very  sweet-tempered  and  affectionate  little  tiling, 
but  I  never  considered  her  pretty.  She  is  too  much  like  her 
father." 

"  Salome,  death  veils  all  blemishes." 

"  That  depends  very  much  on  the  character  of  the  survivors ; 
but  we  will  not  discuss  abstract  propositions,  —  especially  sines 
I  have  resolved  to  follow  the  old  oriental  maxim, — 

'  Leave  ancestry  behind,  despise  heraldic  art, 
Thy  father  be  thy  mind,  thy  mother  be  thy  heart. 
Dead  names  concern  not  thee,  bid  foreign  titles  wait; 
Thy  deeds  thy  pedigree,  thy  hopes  thy  rich  estate ! '' 

Dr.  Greyj-ttie  week  has  ended,  and  I  took  tlio  liberty  of 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  32 

Ing  7011  of  the  fact,  as  I  am  anxious  to  acquaint  you  with  my 
purposes  for  the  future." 

Ho  drew  a  chair  near  hers,  and  seated  himself. 

"  "WY'll,  Salome,  I  hope  that  reflection  has  changed  your  views, 
uzid  taught  you  the  wisdom  of  niy  sister's  course  with  reference 
to  yo-irseif." 

"  On  the  contrary,  the  season  of  deliberation  you  forced  upon 
aie  Las  only  strengthened  and  intensified  my  desire  to  carrj 
into  execution  the  project  I  have  so  long  dreamed  of;  and  to-day 
1  Jim  more  than  ever  i irmly  resolved  to  follow,  at  all  hazards, 
the  dictates  of  my  own  judgment,  no  matter  with  whose  opinions 
or  wishes  they  may  conflict." 

She  expected  that  lie  would  expostulate,  and  plead  against  her 
decision,  but  he  merely  bowed,  and  remained  silent. 

"My  object  in  asking  this  interview  was  to  ascertain  how 
soon  it  would  be  convenient  for  you  to  place  in  my  hands  the 
legacy  of  one  thousand  dollars  which  was  bequeathed  to  me  on 
condition  that  I  went  upon  the  stage;  and  also  to  inquire  what 
j"on  intend  to  do  with  the  children,  of  whom  Miss  Jane's  will 
constitutes  you  the  guardian  ?  " 

"  You  wish  me  to  understand  that  you  are  determined  to  defy 
the  wishes  of  your  best  friend,  and  take  a  step  which  distressed 
her  beyond  expression  ?  " 

"  I  shall  certainly  go  upon  the  stage." 

"  1  have  no  alternative  but  to  accept  your  decision,  which  you 
are  well  aware  1  regard  as  exceedingly  deplorable.  The  money 
can  be  paid  to  you  to-morrow,  if  you  desire  it.  Hoping  that 
you  would  abandon  this  freak,  I  had  intended  to  keep  the 
children  here,  under  your  supervision,  while  I  removed  to  my 
house  iu  town,  and  left  their  tuition  to  Miss  Dexter ;  but  since 
you  lia>?,  decided  otherwise,  I  shall  remain  here  for  the  present, 
teepingj  them  with  me,  at  least  until  after  Muriel's  marriage, 
'flic  income  from  this  farm  avenges  two  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
and  will  not  only  amply  provide  for  their  wants  and  education, 
but  will  enab'e  me  to  lay  aside  annually  a  portion  of  that  amount. 
When  Muriel  marries,  Miss  Dexter  may  not  bo  \villirg  to  reinuia 
here,  and  if  she  leaves  us  (  shall  endeavor  to  iind  as  worthy  tu  <•' 
28* 


330  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

reliable  a  substitute.  Have  you  any  objection  to  this  arrange 
ment  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  right  to  uttei  any,  since  you  are  the  legal  guar 
dian  of  the  children.  But  contingencies  might  arise  for  which  it 
aeems  you  have  not  provided." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  I  can  trus*  Jessie  and  Stanley  to  you,  but  when 
you  are  married  I  prefer  that  they  should  tind  another  hoint; ; 
«>r,  if  need  be,  Jessie  can  come  to  me." 

An  angry  flush  dyed  Dr.  Grey's  olive  face,  and  kindled  a  fiery 
gleam  in  his  usually  mild,  clear,  blue  eyes,  but  looking  at  the 
girl's  compressed  and  trembling  lips,  and  noting  the  underlying 
misery  which  her  defiant  expression  could  not  cover,  his  dis 
pleasure  gave  place  to  profound  compassion. 

"  Salome,  dismiss  that  cause  of  anxiety  from  your  mind,  and 
trust  the  assurance  I  offer  you  now,  —  that  when  I  marry,  my 
wife  will  be  worthy  to  assist  me  in  guiding  and  governing  niy 
wards." 

She  was  prepared  to  hear  him  retort  that  the  caieer  she  had 
chosen  would  render  her  an  unsuitable  counsellor  for  little  Jessie ; 
and  conscious  that  she  had  deeply  wounded  him,  his  calm  reply 
was  the  sharpest  rebuke  he  could  possibly  have  administered. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  I  have  no  extraordinary  amount  of  tenderness  for 
the  children,  because  they  are  indissolubly  associated  with  that 
period  of  my  life  to  which  I  never  recur  without  pain  and  hu 
miliation  that  you  can  not  possibly  realize  or  comprehend  ;  still, 
I  am  not.  exactly  a  brute,  and  I  do  not  wish  them  to  be  trained 
to  regard  me  as  a  Pariah,  or  to  be  told  that  I  have  forfeited  theii 
respect  and  affection.  When  I  am  gone,  let  them  think  kindly 
ofme" 

"  Your  request  is  a  reflection  upon  my  friendship,  and  is  sc 
exceedingly  unjust  that  1  am  surprised  and  pained;  but  let 
that  pass.  I  am  sure  I  need  not  tell  you  that  your  wishes  shall 
be  complied  with.  I  hare  often  thought  that  after  Stanley 
completed  his  studies,  I  would  take  him  into  my  ofSce,  and 
teach  him  my  owr.  profession.  Have  you  any  objection  to  thi* 
scheme?" 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PAMT.  331 

"No,  fir.  I  am  willing  to  trust  him  implicitly  to  yon.  He 
has  one  terrible  fault  which  I  have  been  trying  to  correct,  and 
which  I  hope  you  will  not  lose  sight  of.  The  boy  seems  con 
stitutionally  addicted  to  telling  stones,  and  prefers  falsehood  to 
'ruth.  I  have  punished  him  repeatedly  for  this  habit,  and  yor 
must,  if  possible,  save  him  from  the  pauper  vice  ;f  lying; 
•rhich  is  peculiarly  detestable  to  me.  I  know  less  of  the  iittif 
one's  character,  but  believe  that  she  is  not  afflicted  with  thifc 
evil  tendency." 

"  Stanley's  fault  has  not  escaped  me,  and  two  days  ago  1  was 
obliged  to  punish  him  for  a  gross  violation  of  the  truth ;  but  as 
he  grows  older,  I  trust  he  will  correct  this  defect,  and  I  shall 
faithfully  endeavor  to  show  him  its  enormity.  Is  there  any 
thing  else  you  wish  to  say  to  me  about  the  children?  I  will 
very  gladly  hear  any  suggestions  you  can  offer." 

"  No,  sir.  I  have  governed  myself  so  badly,  that  it  ill  be 
comes  me  to  dictate  to  you  how  they  should  be  trained.  God 
knows,  I  am  heartily  glad  they  were  mercifully  thrown  into 
your  hands ;  and  if  you  can  only  make  Stanley  Owen  such  a 
man  as  you  are,  the  old  blot  on  the  name  may  be  effaced.  From 
Mark  and  Joel  I  have  not  heard  for  several  months,  and  pre 
sume  they  will  be  sturdy  but  unlettered  mechanics.  If  1 
succeed,  T  shall  interfere  and  send  them  to  school;  otherwise, 
they  must  take  the  chances  for  letters  and  a  livelihood." 

"  Salome,  yon  are  bartering  life-long  peace  and  happiness  for 
thf  momentary  gratification  of  a  whim,  prompted  solely  by 
vanity.  How  worthless  are  the  brief  hollow  plaudits  of  the 
vvorld  (which  will  regard  you  merely  as  the  to\  of  an  hour),  in 
comparison  with  the  affection  and  society  of  your  own  family  ? 
IK'.re,  m  your  home,  how  useful,  how  contented  you  might 
b« ! " 

lift  only  reply  was  a  hasty,  imperious  wave  of  the  hand,  and 
n  long  pilcnce  followed. 

In  the  bright  morning  light  that  streamed  in  through  tne 
tendrils  of  honeysuckle  clambering  around  the  "window,  Dr. 
firyy  looked  searchingly  at  the  orphan,  and  jould  scarcely 


332  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

realize  that  this  pale,  proud,  pain-stricken  face,  -was  the  same 
rosy  round  one,  fair  and  fearless,  that  had  first  met  hia  gaze 
under  the  pearly  apple-blossoms. 

Then,  pink  flesh,  hazel  eyes,  vermilioned  lips,  and  glossy  hail 
aad  preferred  incontestable  claims  to  beauty;  now,  an  artist 
would  have  curiously  traced  the  fine  lines  and  curves  daintily 
drawn  about  eyes,  Wuw,  and  mouth,  by  the  stylus  of  care,  of 
hopelessness,  of  wild  bursts  of  passion.  Her  figure  retained  its 
rounded  symmetry,  but  the  countenance  traitorously  revealed 
the  struggles,  the  bitter  disappointments,  the  vindictive  jealousy, 
and  rudely-smitten  and  blasted  hopes,  that  had  robbed  her 
days  of  peace  and  her  nights  of  sleep. 

Until  this  moment,  Dr.  Grey  had  not  fully  appreciated  the 
change  that  had  been  wrought  by  two  tedious  years,  and  as  he 
scrutinized  the  sadly  sharpened  and  shadowed  features,  a  painful 
feeling  of  humiliation  and  almost  of  self-reproach  sprang  from 
the  consciousness  that  his  inability  to  reciprocate  her  devoted 
love  had  brought  down  this  premature  blight  upon  a  young 
and  whilom  happy,  careless  girl,  —  transforming  her  into  a 
reckless,  hardened,  hopeless  woman. 

While  his  inexorable  conscience  fully  exonerated  him  from 
censure,  his  generous  heart  ached  in  sympathy  for  hers,  and  his 
chivalric  tenderness  for  all  things  weaker  than  himself,  bled  at 
the  reflection  that  he  had  been  unintentionally  instrumental  in 
darkening  a  woman's  life. 

But  hope,  —  beautiful,  blue-eyed,  sunny-browed  hope,  — 
whispered  that  this  was  a  fleeting  youthful  fancy;  and  that 
ibsence  and  time  would  dispel  the  temporary  gloom  that  now 
iay  on  her  heart,  bike  some  dense  cold  vapor  which  would 
grow  silvery,  and  melt  in  morning  sunshine. 

Tinder  his  steady  gaze  the  blood  rose  slowly  to  its  old  signal- 
station  on  her  cheeks,  and  she  put  up  one  hand  to  shield  its 
scarlet  banners. 

"  Salome,  will  jou  tell  me  when  and  wheiv  vou  intend  to  go  ? 
Since  you  have  resolved  to  leave  us,  I  desire  to  know  in  what 
way  I  can  aid  you,  or  contribute  to  the  comfort  of  the  journey 
you  contemplate." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  333 

"  From  the  last  letter  of  Professor  V ,  declining  your  pro 
posal  that  he  should  come  here  and  instruct  me,  I  learn  thai 
within  the  ensuing  ten  days  he  will  sail  for  Havre,  en  route  to 
Italy,  where  he  intends  spending  the  winter.  If  possible,  I  wish 
v,>  re&ch  New  York  before  liis  departure,  and  to  accompany 
irura.  The  thousand  dollars  will  defray  my  expenses  until  i 
Lave  completed  my  musical  training,  which  will  fit  me  for  thr 
*itflge,  and  insure  an  early  engagement  in  some  operatic  company. 
Knowing  your  high  estimate  of  Professor  V ,  both  as  a  gen 
tleman  and  as  a  musician,  I  am  exceedingly  anxious  to  place 
myself  under  his  protection ;  especially  since  his  wife  and 
children  will  meet  him  at  Paris,  and  go  on  to  Naples.  Are  you 
willing  to  give  me  a  letter  of  introduction,  commending  me  tc 
his  favorable  consideration  ?  " 

The  hesitating  timidity  with  which  this  request  was  uttered, 
touched  him  more  painfully  than  aught  that  had  ever  passed 
between  them. 

"  My  dear  child,  did  you  suppose  that  I  would  permit  you  to 
travel  alone  to  New  York,  and  thrust  yourself  upon  the  notice 
of  strangers?  I  will  accompany  you  whenever  you  go,  and  not 
only  present  you  to  the  professor,  but  request  him  to  receive 
you  into  his  family  as  a  member  of  his  home-circle." 

A  quiver  shook  out  the  hard  lines  around  her  lips,  and  she 
turned  her  eyes  full  on  his. 

"You  are  very  kind,  sir,  but  that  is  not  necessary;  and  a 
letter  of  introduction  will  have  the  same  effect,  and  save  you 
from  a  disagreeable  trip.  Your  time  is  too  valuable  to  be 
wasted  011  such  journeys,  and  1  have  no  right  to  expect  thai 
solely  on  my  account  you  should  tear  yourself  away  —  from  — 
those  dear  to  you." 

"1  think  my  time  could  not  be  more  profitably  employed 
than  in  promoting  the  happiness  and  welfare  of  my  adopted 
sister,  who  was  so  inexpressibly  dear  to  my  noble  Janet.  It 
J.9  neither  pleasant  nor  proper  for  a  young  lady  to  travel  withotn 
on  escort." 

He  had  risen,  and  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  the  back  of  hei 
t'.hair. 


S34  UNTIL  DEA  TH  US  DO  PART 

"  She  smiled ;  but  he  could  see  arise 
Her  soul  from  far  adown  her  eyes, 
Prepared  as  if  for  sacrifice." 

"  [«  ii  a  mercy,  think  you,  Dr.  Grey,  to  foster  a  fastidious 
aess  Iliafc  can  only  barb  the  shafts  of  penury?  What  right 
have  toiMng  paupers  to  harbor  in  their  thoughts  those  dainty 
scruples  that  belong  appropriately  to  princesses  and  palaces? 
Why  tell  me  that  this,  that,  or  the  other  step  is  not  'proper,1 
when  you  know  that  necessity  goads  me  ?  Sir,  I  feel  now  like 
that  isolated  Florentine,  and  echo  her  words,  — 

'  And  since  help 

Must  come  to  me  from  those  who  love  me  not, 
Farewell,  all  helpers.     I  must  help  myself, 
And  am  alone  from  henceforth. " 

"You  prefer  that  I  should  not  accompany  you  to  New 
York?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  ]  gratefully  accept  a  letter  to  Professor 
y » 

"  Very  well :  it  shall  be  in  readiness  when  you  wish  it. 
Have  you  fixed  any  time  for  your  departure  ?  " 

"  This  is  Fridivy,  —  and  I  shall  go  on  the  six  o'clock  train, 
Monday  morning. ' 

"  Is  there  any  service  that  I  can  render  you  in  the  interim  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"As  you  have  no  likeness  of  the  children,  would  it  bo  agree 
able  to  you  to  have  their  photographs  taken  to-day,  —  and,  at 
the  same  time,  a  picture  of  yourself  to  be  left  with  them  ?  J  f 
you  desire  it  I  will  meet  you  in  town,  at  the  gallery,  at  any 
hour  you  may  designate." 

Standing  before  him,  she  answered,  almost  scornfully, — 

"  I  shall  not  have  time.  Some  day  —  if  I  succeed  —  1  will 
end  them  my  photograph,  taken  in  gorgeous  robes  as  pritna 
Jvnna ;  provided  you  promise  that  said  robes  shall  not  con 
stitute  a  San  Ilenito,  and  doom  the  picture  to  the  flames. 
[  will  ietain  you  no  longer,  Dr.  Grey,  as  the  sole  object  of  tht 
interview  has  been  accomplished." 


UNTIL  DEATH   UH  DO  PART.  335 

"  Par  ion  me ;  but  I  have  a  word  to  say.  Your  career  wiD 
probably  be  brilliantly  successful,  in  which  event  you  will  feel 
no  want  of  admirers  and  friends,  —  and  will  doubtless  ignore 
me  for  those  who  flatter  you  more,  and  really  love  you  less. 
But,  Salome,  failure  may  overtake  you,  bringing  in  its  traiu 
iouni  less  evils  that  at  present  you  can  not  realize, — poverty, 
disease,  desolation,  in  the  midst  of  strangers,  —  and  all  the 
woes  that,  like  hungry  wolves,  attack  homeless,  isolated  women. 
I  earnestly  hope  that  the  leprous  hand  of  disaster  and  defeat 
may  never  be  laid  upon  your  future,  but  the  most  cautious 
human  schemes  are  fallible  —  often  futile  —  and  if  you  should 
be  unsuccessful  in  your  programme,  and  find  yourself  unable  to 
consummate  your  plans,  1  ask  you  now,  by  the  memory  of 
our  friendship,  by  the  sacred  memory  of  the  dead,  to  promise 
me  that  you  will  immediately  write  and  acquaint  me  with 
all  your  needs,  your  wishes,  your  real  condition.  Promise  me, 
dear  Salome,  that  you  will  turn  instantly  to  me,  as  you  would 
to  Stanley,  were  he  in  my  place,  —  that  you  will  let  me  prove 
myself  your  elder  brother,  —  your  truest,  best  friend." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  head,  but  she  recoiled  haughtily  from 
his  touch. 

"  Dr.  Grey,  I  promise  you, 

1 1  will  not  soil  thy  purple  with  my  dust, 
Nor  breathe  my  poison  on  thy  Venice-glass. ' 

1  promise  you  that  if  misfortune,  failure,  and  penury  lay  ho'ld 
of  me,  you  shall  no  the  last  human  being  who  will  learn  it; 
for  1  will  cloak  myself  under  a  name  that  will  not  betray  mo, 
and  crawl  into  some  lazaretto,  and  be  buried  in  some  potter's 
field,  among  other  mendicants,  —  unknown.,  '  unwept,  unhon- 
ored,  and  unsung.'" 

If  some  motherless  young  chamois,  rescued  from  destruction, 
and  pampered  and  caressed,  had  suddenly  turned,  and  savagely 
bitten  and  lacerated  the  hand  that  fondled  and  fed  it,  Dr.  Grev 
would  not  huve  been  more  painfully  startled;  but  experience 
b.s.fi  taught  him  the  uselessness  of  expostulation  during;  her 


336  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

moods  of  perversity,  and  lie  took  his  hat  and  turned  away,  say 
ing,  almost  sternly,  — 

"  Bear  in  mind  that  neither  palace  nor  potter's  field  can 
screen  you  from  the  scrutiny  of  your  Maker,  or  mask  and 
shelter  your  shivering  soul  in  the  solemn  hour  when  He 
IffEnands  its  last  reckoning." 

"  Which  '  reckoning,'  your  eminently  Christian  charity  assures 
pou  will  prove  more  terrible  for  me  than  the  Bloody  Assiz.es. 
4  By  the  memory  of  our  friendship ! '  Oh,  shallow  sham ! 
Pinning  my  faith  to  the  dictum,  '  The  tide  of  friendship  does 
not  rise  high  on  the  bank  of  perfection,'  my  fatuity  led  me 
to  expect  that  your  friendship  was  wide  as  the  universe,  and 
lasting  as  eternity.  Wise  Helvetius  told  me  that,  '  To  be  loved, 
we  should  merit  but  little  esteem ;  all  superiority  attracts  awe 
and  aversion ; '  ergo,  since  my  credentials  of  unworthiness 
were  in  disputable,  I  laid  claim  to  a  vast  share  of  your  favor. 
But,  alas  I  the  logic  of  the  seers  is  well-nigh  as  hollow  as  my 
hopes." 

H»  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  her,  with  an  expression  of 
pity  as  profound  as  that  which  must  have  filled  the  eyes  of  the 
angel,  who,  standing  in  the  blaze  of  the  sword  of  wrath,  watched 
Adam  and  Eve  go  mournfully  forth  into  the  blistering  heats  of 
unknown  lands.  Before  he  could  reply,  she  laughed  contemptu 
ously,  and  continued, — 

"Nil  desperandum,  Dr.  Grey.  Remember  that,  '  Faith  and 
persistency  are  life's  architects ;  while  doubt  and  despair  bury 
all  under  the  ruins  of  any  endeavor.'  When  I  have  trilled  a 
fortune  into  that  abhorred  vacuum,  my  pocket,  I  s'hall  go 
down  to  the  Tigris,  and  catch  the  mate  to  Tobias'  fish,  and  by 
tho  cremation  thereof,  fumigate  my  pestiferous  soul,  and  smoke 
cut  the  Asmodeus  that  has  so  long  and  comfortably  dwelt 
there." 

"  God  grant  you  a  Raphael,  as  guide  on  your  journey,"  waa 
his  calm,  earnest  reply,  as  he  disappeared,  closing  the  door  after 
him. 

When  the  sound  of  his  buggy-wheels  on  the  gravelled  avenue 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  337 

told  her  he  had  gone,  she  threw  herself  on  the  floor,  and  cross 
ing  her  arms  on  a  chair,  hid  her  face  in  them. 

During  Saturday,  no  opportunity  presented  itself  for  renewing 
the  conversation,  and  early  on  Sunday  morning  Dr.  Grey  sent 
to  her  room  a  package  marked  $1,000.00  —  though  really  con 
taining  $1,500.00  —  and  a  letter  addressed  to  Professor  V 

Without   examining  either,  she    threAv  them    into    her   trunk, 
which  was  already  packed,  and  went  down  to  breakfast. 

She  declined  accompanying  Miss  Dexter  and  Muriel  to  church, 
alleging,  as  an  excuse,  that  it  was  the  last  day  she  could  spend 
with  the  children. 

Dr.  Grey  approached  her  when  the  remainder  of  the  family 
had  left  the  table,  where  she  sat  abstractedly  jingling  her  fork 
and  spoon. 

He  noticed  that  her  breakfast  was  untasted,  and  said,  very 
gently,— 

"  I  suppose  that  you  wish  to  visit  our  dear  Jane's  grave, 
before  you  leave  us,  and,  if  agreeable  to  you,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  you  accompany  me  there  to-day." 

"  Thank  you  ;  but  if  I  go,  it  will  be  alone." 

He  stooped  to  kiss  Jessie,  who  leaned  against  her  sister's 
chair,  and,  when  he  left  the  room,  Salome  caught  the  child  in 
her  arms,  and  pressed  her  lips  twice  to  the  spot  where  his  had 
rested. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  she  eluded  the  children's  watchful  eyes, 
and  stole  away  from  the  house,  taking  the  road  that  led  towards 
"  Solitude."  In  one  portion  of  the  osage  hedge  that  surroiinded 
the  place,  the  lower  branches  had  died,  leaving  a  small  opening, 
and  here  Salome  gained  access  to  the  grounds.  Walking  cau 
tiously  under  the  thick  and  dark  masses  of  shrubbery  and  trees, 
fthe  reached  the  arched  path  near  the  clump  of  pyramidal 
•l.iolars,  whose  long,  drooping  plumes  were  fluttering  in  the 
e  /ening  wind. 

Hence  she  could  command  a  view  of  the  house  and  grounds 
in  front,  and  thence  she  saw  that  concerning  which   she   had 
come  to  satisfy  herself,  -—  belie  vi_ng  that  the  evidence  of  hex  own 
29 


338  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

eyea  would  fortify  her  for  the  approaching  trial  of  sepaiatioiv 
Dr.  Grey's  horse  and  buggy  stood  near  the  side  gate,  and  Dr. 
Orev  was  walking  very  slowly  up  and  down  the  avenue  leading 
to  th3  beach,  while  Mrs.  Gerome's  tall  form  leaned  on  his  arm, 
and  the  greyhound  followed  sulkily. 

Salome  had  barely  time  to  look  upon  the  spectacle  that  tired 
her  heart  and  well-nigh  maddened  her,  ere  the  dog  lifted  his 
head,  gave  one  quick,  savage  bark,  and  darted  in  the  direction 
of  the  cedars. 

Dread  of  detection  and  of  Dr.  Grey's  pitying  gaze  was  more 
potent  than  fear  of  the  brute,  and  she  ran  swiftly  towards  the 
gap  in  the  hedge,  by  which  she  had  effected  an  entrance  into 
the  secluded  grounds.  Just  as  she  reached  it,  the  greyhound 
bounded  up,  and  they  met  in  front  of  the  opening.  He  set  his 
teeth  in  her  clothes,  tearing  away  a  streamer  of  her  black  dress, 
and,  as  she  silently  struggled,  he  bit  her  arm  badly,  mangling 
the  flesh,  from  which  the  blood  spouted.  Disengaging  a  shawl 
which  she  wore  around  her  shoulders,  she  threw  it  over  his 
head,  and,  as  the  meshes  caught  in  his  collar,  and  temporarily 
entangled  him,  she  sprang  through  the  gap,  and  seized  a  heavy 
stick  which  lay  within  reach.  He  followed,  snarling  and  pawing 
at  the  shawl  that  ultimately  dropped  at  Salome's  feet ;  but  find 
ing  himself  beyond  the  boundary  he  was  expected  to  guard,  and 
probably  satisfied  with  the  punishment  already  inflicted,  he  re 
treated  before  a  well-aimed  blow  that  drove  him  back  into  the 
enclosure. 

The  instant  he  started  towards  the  cedars  Dr.  Grey  suspected 
mischief,  and,  placing  Mrs.  Gerome  on  a  bench  that  surrounded 
an  elm,  he  hurried  in  the  same  direction. 

When  he  reached  the  spot,  the  dog  was  snuffing  at  a  patch  of 
oombazine  that  lay  on  the  grass ;  and,  confirmed  in  his  sad  BUS- 
picion,  the  doctor  passed  through  the  opening  in  the  hedge  and 
ooked  about  for  the  figure  which  he  dreaded,  yet  expected  to 
see. 

Bushy  undergrowth  covered  the  ground  for  some  listance, 
and,  hoping  that  nothirg  more  serious  ian  fright  had  resulted 


UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART.  339 

from  the  escapade,  lie  stowed  away  the  bombazine  fragment  in 
his  coat  pocket,  and  slowly  retraced  his  steps. 

Secreted  by  two  friendly  oaks  that  spread  their  low  boughs 
over  her,  Salome  had  seen  his  anxious  face  peering  around  for 
the  intnider,  and  when  he  abandoned  the  search  and  disajv 
peared,  she  smothered  a  bitter  laugh,  and  strove  to  stanch  th?> 
blood  that  trickled  from  the  gash  by  binding  her  handkerchief 
over  it.  Torn  muscles  and  tendons  ached  and  smarted ;  but  th? 
great  agony  that  seemed  devouring  her  heart  rendered  her 
almost  oblivious  of  physical  pain.  In  the  dusk  of  corninf, 
night  she  crossed  the  gloomy  forest,  \\here  a  whippoorwill  was 
drearily  lamenting,  and,  walking  over  an  unfrequented  portioi 
of  the  lawn,  went  up  to  her  own  room. 

She  bathed  and  bound  up  the  wound  as  securely  as  the  use  oi 
only  one  hand  would  permit,  and  put  on  a  dress  whose  sleeves 
fastened  closely  at  the  wrist. 

Ere  long,  Dr.  Grey's  clear  voice  echoed  through  the  hall,  and 
tho  sound  made  her  wince,  like  the  touch  of  some  glowing 
brand. 

"  Jessie,  where  ;s  sister  .Salome  V     Tell  her  tea  is  ready." 

The  orphan  \\:eut  down  and  took  her  seat,  but  did  not  even 
glance  ;it  the  master  of  the  house,  who  looked  anxiously  at  hei 
as  she  entered. 

During  the  meal  Jessie  asked  for  some  .sweetmeats  that  were 
[•laced  in  front  of  her  sister,  and,  as  the  latter  drew  the  glass 
dish  nearer,  ;nul  proceeded  to  help  her,  the  child  exclaimed,— 

"Oh,  look  "hen.}!  What  is  that  dripping  from  your  sleeve? 
!:Y',h  !  it  is  blood." 

"Nonsense,  Jessie!  don't  be  silly.  Hush!  and  eat  youjr 
supTxvr." 

Tv.'o  drops  of  blood  had  fallen  on  the  table-cloth,  and  the  girJ 
;,;'.i;un  :y  set  her  cup  and  saucer  over  them. 

Him  felt  the  slow  stream  trickling  down  to  her  wrist,  and  pul 
>ier  arm  ir.  her  lap. 

'is  any tli ing  the  matter?"  asked  Dr  Grey,  who  had  o1> 
•v&rvec  the  quick  movement. 


340  ULITN  DEATH   U8  DO  PART. 

"  I  hurt  my  arm  a  little,  that  is  all." 

Her  tone  forbade  a  renewal  of  inquiry,  and,  as  soon  as  possi 
ble,  she  withdrew  to  her  room,  to  adjust  the  bandage. 

The  children  were  playing  in  the  library,  and  Muriel  wa« 
talking  with  her  governess  on  the  wide  piazza. 

While  Salome  was  trying  by  the  aid  of  fingers  and  teeth  to 
tiraw  a  strip  of  linen  tightly  over  her  wound,  a  tap  at  the  dooi 
Bturtled  ner. 

"  I  am  engaged,  and  can  see  no  one  just  now." 

"  Salome,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  and  shall  wait  here  until 
f  do." 

"Excuse  me,  Dr.  Grey.     I  will  come  down  in  ten  minutes." 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  insist  upon  seeing  you  here,  and  hope  you 
will  not  compel  me  to  force  the  door  open." 

She  wrapped  a  towel  around  her  arm,  drew  down  her  sleeve, 
and  opened  the  door. 

"  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor  of  this  interview  ?  " 

"  To  my  interest  in  your  welfare,  which  cannot  be  baffled. 
Salome,  what  is  the  matter?  You  looked  so  pale  that  I 
noticed  you  particularly,  and  saw  the  blood  on  the  table-cloth. 
My  dear  child,  I  will  not  be  trifled  with.  Tell  me  where  you 
are  hurt." 

"  Pray  give  yourself  no  uneasiness.  I  merely  scraped  and 
braised  my  arm.  It  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence." 

"  Of  that  I  beg  to  be  considered  the  best  judge.  Show  me 
your  arm." 

"  I  prefer  not  to  trouble  yon." 

He  gently  but  firmly  took  hold  of  it,  unwound  the  towel,  and 
she  saw  him  start  and  shudder  at  sight  of  the  mangled  flesh. 

"  An  ugly  gash !  Tell  me  how  you  hurt  yourself  so 
severely." 

"  It  is  a  matter  that  I  do  not  choose  to  discuss ;  but  since 
you  have  seen  it,  I  wish  you  woiild  be  so  good  as  to  dress  and 
bandage  the  wound." 

"  Oh,  my  little  sister  !  Will  you  never  learn  to  trust  youi 
brother?" 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Grey  !  will  you  never  learn  to  let  me  alone, 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  341 

I  am  indulging  the  'Imp  of  the  Perverse '  in  an  audience,  and  do 
not  wish  to  be  interrupted  ?" 

She  mimicked  his  pleading  tone  so  admirably  that  his  face 
flushed. 

"Come  to  the  sitting-room.  No  one  can  disturb  us  there,  and 
I  will  attend  to  your  injury,  which  is  really  serious." 

She  followed  him,  and  stood  without  flinching  one  iota, 
while  he  clipped  away  the  jagged  pieces  of  flesh,  covered  the 
long  gash  with  adhesive  plaster,  and  carefully  bandaged  the 
whole. 

"Salome,  you  must  dismiss  all  idea  of  starting  to-morrow,  for 
indeed  it  would  not  be  safe  for  you  to  travel  alone,  with  your 
arm  in  this  condition.  It  may  give  you  muck  trouble  and 
suffering." 

"  Which,  of  course,  nolens  volens,  I  must  bear  as  best  I  may ; 
but,  so  surely  as  I  live  to  see  daylight,  I  shall  start,  even  if  I 
knew  I  should  have  to  stop  en  route  and  bury  my  pretty  arm, 
and  be  forced  to  buy  a  cork  one,  wherewith  to  gesticulate  grace 
fully  when  L  die  as  '  Azucena.'  There!  thank  you,  Dr.  Grey; 
of  course  you  are  very  good,  —  you  always  are.  Shall  I  bid 
you  all  good-by  now,  er  w;iit  till  morning':'  littler  uiuke  my 
adieu  to-night,  so  that  1  may  not  disturb  the  matutinal  Clum 
bers  of  the  household." 

There  was  a  dangerous,  starry  sparkle  ia  her  ryes,  that  he 
would  not  venture  to  dei'y,  and,  sighing  heavily,  he  an 
swered,  — 

"  I  shall  accompany  you  to  the  depot,  and  place  you  antler 
the  protection  of  (.lie  conductor." 

"  J  do  not  desire  to  give  you  that  trouble,  and  — 

"Hush  !  Do  not  grieve  me  any  more  than  you  have  already 
done,  by  your  hasty,  unkind,  unfriendly  speeches.  I  shall  see  you 
in  I  he  morning." 

lie  left  the  room  abruptly,  to  conceal  the  distress  which  he  did 
not  desire  her  to  discover;  and  having  found  Muriel  and  Miss 
Dexter,  Salome  bade  them  good  by,  requested  them  not  to  disturb 
1  h'jinM.'lves  next  morning  on  her  account,  and  called  the  children 
to  he"  room. 
20* 


343  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

For  two  hours  they  sat  beside  her  on  the  lovjnge,  crying  yvet 
her  impending  departure,  but  when  she  had  promised  to  take 
them  as  far  as  the  df>pot,  their  thoughts  followed  other  currents, 
and  very  soon  after,  both  slumbered  soundly  in  their  trundlo- 


With  her  cheek  resting  on  her  hand,  Salome  sat  looking  at 
them,  noting  the  glossiness  of  their  curling  hair,  the  flush  ou 
their  round  faces,  the  regular  breathing  of  peaceful  childhood's 
Bleep.  Once  she  could  have  wept,  and  would  have  knelt  ami 
prayed  over  them;  but  now  her  O\\TI  overmastering  misery  had 
withered  all  the  tenderness  in  her  heart,  and,  while  her  eye.s  of 
flesh  rested  on  the  orphans,  her  mental  vision  was  filled  with  the 
figure  of  that  gray-haired  woman  hanging  on  Dr.  Grey's  arm. 
Tn  a  dull,  cold,  abstract  way,  she  hoped  that  the  little  one« 
would  be  happy,-  —  how  could  they  be  otherwise  when  fortune 
had  committed  them  to  Dr.  Grey's  guardianship?  But  a  numb, 
desperate  feeling  had  seized  her,  and  she  cared  for  nothing, 
loved  nothing,  prayed  for  nothing. 

TIow  the  hours  of  that  night  of  wretchedness  passed  she  never 
knew  ;  biit  when  the  little  bird  in  the  parlor  clock  "  cuckooed  " 
tiiree  times,  she  wns  aroused  from  her  reverie  by  the  tramp  of 
horses'  hoofs  or>  the  gravel,  and  then  the  sharp  clang  of  the  bell 
echoed  through  the  silent  house. 

It  was  not  unusual  for  messengers  to  summon  Dr.  Grey 
during  the  night,  and  she  was  not  surprised  when,  some  mo 
ments  later,  she  heard  his  voice  in  the  hall.  After  the  lapse  of 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  his  firm,  well-known  step  approached  and 
nvised  at  her  threshold. 

"  Salome,  are  you  upV  " 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"Come  into  the  passage." 

She  opened  the  door,  and  snood  with,  the  candle  in  n«r 
hand. 

"  I  regret  exceedingly  that  I  am  compelled  to  leave  here  im 
mediately,  as  I  must  hasten  to  see  a  man  and  child  who  have 
been  horribly  burned  and  injured  by  the  falling  in  of  a  roof, 
The  parties  live  some  distance  in  the  country,  and  I  fear  T  shall 


UNTIL  DEATH   JS  DO  PART.  343 

dot  ho  ;il>lo  to  get  back  in  timo  to  go  with  you  to  the  cars.  I 
shall  drive  as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  hope  to  accompany  you, 
but,  if  I  should  be  detained,  here  is  a  note  which  I  hastily  scrib 
bled  to  Mr.  Miller,  the  conductor,  whom  you  will  find  a  very 
kind  and  courteous  gentleman.  I  sincerely  deplore  this  sum 
oiori.-i,  but  the  sufferers  are  old  friends  of  my  sister,  and  I  hojx 
1  believe  that  nothing  but  a  case  of  life  and  death  would 
nie  from  seeing  you  aboard  the  train." 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  you  thought  it  necessary  to  apolo 
gise." 

She  was  not  }ret  prepared  to  part  from  him  forever,  —  she 
had  been  nerving  herself  for  the  final  interview  at  the  depot ; 
but  now  it  came  with,  a  shock  that  utterly  stunned  her,  and  she 
reeled  against  the  door-facing,  as  if  recoiling  from  some  fearful 
blow. 

The  livid  pallor  of  her  lips,  and  the  spasm  of  agony  that  con 
tracted  her  features,  frightened  him,  and,  as  he  sprang  closer 
to  her,  the  candle  fell  from  her  lingers.  He  caught  it,  ere  it 
reached  the  mat,  and  placed  it  on  a  chair. 

"  My  deai-  child,  your  arm  pains  you,  and  I  beg  you  to  defer 
your  journey  at  least  until  Tuesday.  I  shall  be  anxious  and 
miserable  about  you,  if  you  go  this  morning,  and,  for  my  sake; 
Salome,  if  not  for  your  own,  remain  here  one  day  longer.  1 
have  not  asked  many  things  of  you,  and  I  trust  you  will  not 
refuse  this  last  request  I  may  eve)'  be  allowed  to  make." 

She  attempted  to  speak,  but  there  came  only  a  quiver  across 
hyr  mouth,  and  a  sickly  smile  that  nickered  over  the  ghastly 
proud  face,  like  the  dying  sunshine  of  Indian  summer  <>r< 
marble  cenotaphs 

"  Salome,  you  will,  to  oblige  me,  wait  until  Tuesday  ?  r 

She  shook  her  head,  and  mastered  her  weakness. 

"Xo,  Dr.  Grey;  I  must  go  at  once.     I  take  all  the  hazam."' 

"Then  you  will  find  on  the  mantel-piece  in  my  room,  a  .  >apct 
containing  directions  for  the  treatment  of  your  arm,  which 
demands  care  and  attention.  I  am  sorry  you  are  so  obstinate, 
and,  if  I  possessed  th ",  authority,  I  would  forVid  your  d& 
parture." 


344  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

He  could  not  endure  the  despairing  expression  of  her 
which  seemed  supernaturally  large  and  brilliant,  and  his  OWH 
quailed,  for  the  first  time  within  his  recollection.  She  kne^ 
that  she  was  going  away  forever,  u»  avoid  the  sight  of  his  hap 
piness  with  Mrs.  Gerome ;  that,  lu  comparison  with  that  torture 
all  other  trials,  even  separation,  would  be  enditrable ,  but  the 
k'ast  evil  was  more  severe  than  she  had  dreaded.  Now,  as  she 
looked  up  at  his  noble  face,  overshadowed  with  anxiety  und 
regret,  and  paler  than  she  had  ever  seen  it,  the  one  prayer  of 
her  heart  was,  that,  ere  a  wife's  lips  touched  his,  death  might 
slaim  him  for  its  prey. 

"Salome,  I  am  deeply  pained  by  the  course  you  persist  in 
following,  but  I  will  not  provoke  and  annoy  you  by  renewed  ex 
pression  of  a  disapprobation  that  has  proved  so  ineffectual  in  in 
fluencing  your  decision.  God  grant  that  the  results  may  sanction 
your  confidence  in  your  own  judgment,  —  your  distrust  of  mine. 
I  promised  you  once  that  I  would  pray  for  you,  and  I  wish  to 
assure  you,  that,  while  I  live,  I  shall  never  lay  my  head  upon  my 
pillow  without  having  first  committed  you  to  the  mercy  and 
loving  care  of  that  Guardian  who  never  *  slumbers,  nor  sleeps.' 
May  God  bless  and  guide  you,  my  dear  young  friend,  and  if  not 
again  in  this  world,  grant  that  we  may  meet  in  the  Everlasting 
City  of  Peace.  Little  sister,  be  sure  to  meet  me  in  the  King 
dom  of  Rest,  where  dear  Janet  waits  for  us  both." 

His  calm  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  his  voice  grew  tremulous, 
as  he  took  Salome's  cold,  passive  hand,  and  kissed  it. 

"  Good-by,  Dr.  Grey ;  if  I  find  my  way  to  heaven,  it  will  be 
because  you  are  there.  When  I  am  gone,  let  my  name  sit)i 
memory  be  like  that  of  the  dead." 

She  stood  erect,  with  her  fingers  lying  in  his  palm,  and  :hr 
•ing  of  her  voice  was  like  the  clashing  of  steel  against  steel. 

He  bent  down,  and,  for  die  first  time,  pressed  his  lips  to  Let 
forehead;  then  turned  quickly  and  walked  away.  "When  h* 
reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  he  looked  back  and  saw  her 
standing  in  the  door,  with  the  candle-light  flaring  over  her  face; 
and  in  after  years,  he  could  never  recall,  without  a  keen  rang, 
that  vision  of  a  girlish  form  draped  in  mourning,  and  nf  fav. 


UJSTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  344 

rigid  features,  which   hope  and   happiness  cou-d  never  again 
soften  and  brighten 

Her  splendid  eyes  followed  him,  as  if  the  sole  light  of  her  life 
were  passing  «way  forever ;  and,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  he  humad 
down  the  steps,  realizing  all  the  mournful  burden  of 
-?artuguese  sonnet, — 

"  Go  from  me.     Yet  I  feel  that  I  shall  stand 
Henceforward  in  thy  shadow.     Nevermore 
Alone  iipon  the  threshold  of  my  door 
Of  individual  life,  I  shall  command 
The  uses  of  my  soul,  nor  lift  my  hand 
Serenely  in  the  sunshine  as  before, 
Without  the  sense  of  that  which  I  forbore  — 
Thy  touch  upon  the  palm.     The  widest  land 
Doom  takes  to  part  us,  leavea  thy  heart  in  mine, 
With  pulses  that  beat  double.     What  I  do 
And  v,  Lu,t  I  dream  include  thee,  as  the  -none 
Must  taste  of  its  own  grapes.     And  when  I  sue 
God  for  myself,  He  hears  that  name  of  thine, 
And  sees  within  my  eyes  the  tears  of  two. " 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

HOPE  nothing  has  gone  wrong,  Robert?    You  leoir 

\inusually  forlorn  and  doleful." 

Dr.  Grey  .stepped  out  of  his  buggy,  and  accosted 
the  gardener,  who  was  leaning  idly  on  the  gate,  holding  a  trowel 
In  his  hand,  and  lazily  puffing  the  smoke  from  his  pipe. 

"I  thank  you,  sir;  with  us  the  world  wags  011  pretty  much 
the  same,  but  when  a  man  has  been  T)lanting  violets  on  his 
mother's  grave  he  does  not  feel  like  whistling  and  making 
meriy.  Besides,  to  tell  the  truth, -—which  f  do  not  like  to 
shirk,  —  1  am  getting  very  tired  of  this  dismal,  unlucky  place 


346  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PA&T. 

Jf  I  had  known  as  much  before  I  bought  it  as  I  do  now,  all  th« 
locomotives  in  America  could  not  have  dragged  me  here.  I  was 
a  stranger,  and  of  course  nobody  thought  it  their  special  duty  tc 
warn  me ;  so  I  was  bitten  badly  enough  by  the  agent  who  sold 
me  this  den  of  misfortune.  Now,  when  it  is  too  late,  there  Ls  no 
lack  of  busy  tongues  to  tell  me  the  place  is  haunted,  and  has 
Wen  for,  lo  !  these  many  years." 

"  Nonsense,  Robert !  I  gave  you  credit  for  too  much  good 
sense  to  listen  to  the  gossip  of  silly  old  wives.  Put  all  ttese 
ridiculous  tales  of  ghosts  and  hobgoblins  out  of  your  mind,  man, 
and  do  not  make  me  laugh  at  you,  as  if  you  were  a  child  who 
had  been  so  frightened  by  stories  of  'raw-head  and  bloody-bones,' 
that  you  were  afraid  to  blow  out  your  candle  and  creep  into 
bed." 

"  I  am  neither  a  fool  nor  a  coward,  and  I  will  fight  anything 
that  I  can  feel  has  bone  and  muscle ;  but  I  am  satisfied  that  if 
all  the  water  in  Siloarn  were  poured  over  this  place,  it  would 
not  wash  out  the  curse  that  people  tell  me  has  always  rested  on  it 
since  the  time  the  pirates  first  located  here.  I  can't  admit  I 
believe  in  witches,  but  undoubtedly  I  do  believe  in  Satan,  who 
seems  to  have  a  fee-srnple  to  the  place.  It  is  not  enough  that 
my  poor  mother  is  buried  yonder,  but  my  wheat  and  oats  took 
the  rust ;  the  mildew  spoiled  my  grape  crop ;  the  rains  ruined 
my  melons ;  the  worms  ate  up  every  blade  of  say  grass ;  the  cows 
have  got  the  black- tongue;  the  gale  blew  down  my  pigeon-house 
and  mashed  all  my  squabs ;  and  my  splendid  carnations  and 
fuchsias  are  devoured  by  red  spider.  Nothing  thrives,  and  I  am 
sick  at  heart." 

The  dogged  discontent  written  so  legibly  on  his  countenance, 
lid  not  encourage  the  visitor  to  enter  into  a  discussion  of  the 
abstract  causes  of  blight,  gales,  and  black-tongue,  and  he  merely 
Answered,  — 

"  The  evils  you  have  enumerated  are  not  peculiar  to  any 
locality;  and  all  the  fanners  in  this  neighborhood  are  echoing 
your  complaints.  How  is  Mrs.  Gerome?" 

"  Neither  better  nor  worse.  You  know  what  miserabla 
weather  we  have  had  for  a  week.  This  morning  she  ordered 


UNTIL  DEASII   US  DO  PART.  34? 

ihe  j-.roill  carriage  and  horses  brought  to  the  door,  and  when  1 
rook  the  reins,  she  dismissed  me  and  said  slie  preferred  drivii^ 
herself.  I  told  her  the  grays  had  not  been  used,  and  were  badly 
pampered  (Standing  so  iong  in  their  stalls,  and  that  1  waa  really 
id'raid  they  would  break  her  neck,  as  she  was  not  strong  enoug; 
i'o  manage  them;  but  she  laughed,  and  answered  that  if  thcj 
•hd,  it  would  be  the  best  day's  work  they  Lad  ever  accomplished, 
«.nd  slie  would  give  them  a  chance.  Dcwn  the  beach  they  \vejut 
like  a  tlash.  and  when  she  came  home  their  flanks  smoke  I  like  a 
lime-kiln.  What  is  ever  to  be  done  with  my  mistress,  I  am  sure 
1  don't  know.  She  makes  the  house;  so  doleful,  that  nobody 
w-ants  to  stay  here,  and  only  yesterday  Katie  and  Phoibe,  the 
cook,  gave  notice  that  they  wished  to  leave  when  the  month  was 
out.  She  has  no  idea  what  she  will  do,  or  where  she  will  go. 
We  have  wanted  a  hot-house,  and  she  ordered  me  to  get  the 
builder's  estimate  of  the  cost  of  two  plans  which  she  drew;  but 
when  I  carried  them  to  her,  she  pushed  them  aside,  and  said  she 
would  think  of  the  matter,  but  thought  she  might  leave  this 
place,  and  therefore  would  not  need  the  building.  She  is  as 
notiouate  as  a  child,  and  no  one  but  my  poor  mother  could  ever 
manage  her.  Hist!  sir!  Don't  you  hear  her?  You  may  be 
sure  there,  is  mischief  brewing  when  she  sini;s  like  that." 

O  O 

Jjr.  (  J-rey  walked  towards  the  house,  and  paused  on  the  poi  tico 
to  listen,  — 

"  Quis  est  homo,  qui  uon  fieret 
CLristi  matrern  K!  viderct, 
lu  tunto  supuliuio  " 


The  voice  was  not.  sr>  .strong  as  when  he  had  heard  it  in 
dfl  JPausata,  hut  the  solemn  mournfulness  of  its  cadences  was 
belter  suited  to  the  tit.u'x.it  Jlfater,  soul  indexed  much  that  no 
other  method  of  expression  would  have  reached.  After  gome 
niomi  nts  she  forsook  liossini,  and  began  the  AgwM.\  Dei  from 
Haydn's  Third  Mass,— 

'Agnus  Dei,  qui  tollis  pcccata  miindi,  miserere." 
Purely  she  could  not  render  this  grand  strain  if  her  soul  was 


348  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAJtT. 

in  fierce  rebellion ;  and,  with  strained  ears  and  htahed  creath. 
Dr.  Grey  listened  to  the  closing 

'•  Dona  uobis  pacexn,  —  paoem,  —  pacem.  " 

It  was  a  passionate,  wailing  prayer,  and  the  only  one  that  evoi 
crossed  her  lips,  yet  1m  heart  throbbed  with  pleas  are,  as  he 
aoted  the  tremor  that  seemed  to  shiver  her  voice  into  silvery 
fragments ;  and  as  she  ended,  he  knew  that  tears  were  not  far 
from  her  eyes. 

WTien  he  entered  the  room,  she  had  left  the  piano,  and  wheeled 
a  sofa  in  front  of  the  grate,  where  she  sat  gazing  vacantly  into 
the  liery  fretwork  of  glowing  c<~*ils. 

A  copy  of  Turner's  "  Liber  Studiorum,"  suparbly  bound  in 
purple  velvet,  lay  on  her  knee,  and  into  a  corner  of  the  sofa 
she  had  tossed  a  square  of  canvas  almost  filled  with  silken 
Parmese  violets. 

"  Good-evening,  Mrs.  Gerome ;  I  hope  I  do  not  interrupt  you." 

Dr.  Grey  removed  the  embroidery  to  the  table,  and  seated 
himself  in  the  sofa  corner. 

''  Good  evening.  Interruption  argues  occupation  and  ab 
sorbed  attention,  and  the  term  is  not  applicable  to  me.  I  who 
live  as  vainly,  as  uselessly,  as  fruitlessly,  as  some  fakir  twirling 
his  thumbs  and  staring  at  his  beard,  have  little  right  to  call 
anytliing  an  interruption.  My  existence  here  is  as  still,  as  stag 
nant,  as  some  pool  down  yonder  in  the  sedge  which  last  week's 
waves  left  among  the  sand  liillocks,  and  your  visits  are  like 
gobbles  thrown  into  it,  creating  transient  ripples  and  circles." 

"  You  have  gone  back  to  the  God  of  your  aesthetic  idolatry," 
said  he,  touching  the  "  Liber  Studiorum." 

"  Yes,  because  '  Beauty  pitches  her  tents  before  him,'  and  his 
[/e&eil  is  more  potent  in  conjuring  visions  that  enchant  nay 
wearied  mind,  than  Jemschid's  goblet  or  Iskander's  mirror." 

"But  *'hy  stand  afar  off,  trusting  to  human  and  fallible 
interpreters,  when  it  is  your  privilege  to  draw  near  and  dweU 
in  the  essence  of  the  only  real  and  divine  beauty  ?  " 

"Better  reverence  it  behind  a  veil,  than  suffer  lite  Semela 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  34S 

f  know  my  needs,  and  satisfy  them  fully.    Once  iny  heart  was  aa 
bart>  of  adoration  as  Egypt's  tawny  sands  of  crystal  rain-pools 
r>ut  looking  into  the  realm  of  nattire  and  of  art,  I  chose  th? 
religi  jii  of  th*»  beautiful,  and  said  to  my  famished  soul,  - 

L  From  every  channel  thro'  which  Beauty  runs, 
To  fertilize  the  world  with  lovely  things, 
]  will  draw  freely,  arid  be  satisfied.'  " 

"  This  morbid  sentimentality,  this  sickly  gasping  system  of 
esthetics,  soi-disant  '  Religion  of  the  Beautiful,'  is  the  curse  of 
the  age,  —  is  a  vast,  universal  vampire  sucking  the  life  from 
humanity.  Like  other  idolatries  it  may  arrogate  the  name  of 
'  Religion,'  but  it  is  simply  downright  pagan  materialism,  and 
its  votaries  of  the  nineteenth  century  should  look  back  two 
thousand  years,  and  renew  the  JPanathencea.  The  ancient  Greek 
worship  of  aesthetics  was  a  proud  and  pardonable  system,  replete 
with  sublime  images ;  but  the  idols  of  your  emasculated  creed 
are  yellow-haired  women  with  straight  noses,  —  are  purple  clouds 
and  moon-silvered  seas,  —  and  physical  beauty  constitutes  their 
sole  excellence.  Lovely  landscapes  and  perfect  faces  are  cer 
tainly  entitled  to  a  liberal  quota  of  earnest  admiration ;  but  a 
religion  that  contents  itself  with  merely  material  beauty,  differs 
in  nothing  but  nomenclature  from  the  pagan  worship  of  Cybele, 
Venus,  and  Astarte." 

A  chill  smile  momentarily  brightened  Mrs.  Gerome's  features, 
and  turning  towards  her  visitor,  she  answered  slowly, — 

"  Be  thankful,  sir,  that  even  the  worship  of  beauty  lingers  in 
tfiis  world  of  sin  and  hate  ;  and  instead  of  defiling  and  demolish 
ing  its  altars,  go  to  work  zealously  and  erect  new  ones  at  every 
cross-roads.  Lessing  spoke  for  me  when  he  said,  '  Only  a 
misapprehended  religion  can  remove  us  from  the  beautiful,  and 
it  is  proof  that  a  religion  is  true  and  rightly  \mderstood  when  it 
everywhere  brings  us  back  to  the  Beautiful." 

"  Pardon  me.      I  accept  Lessing' s  words,  but  cavil  at  yout 

interpretation  of  them.     His  reverence  for  Beauty  embraced  not 

merely  physical  and  material  types,  but  that  nobler,  grander 

beauty  which  centres  in  pure  ethics  and  ontology ;  and  a  religion 

30 


350  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

that  seoks  no  higher  forms  than  those  of  clay,  —  -whether  Ilirn 
alayas  or  *  Greek  Slave,' — whether  emeiald  icebergs,  llashing 
under  po*ar  auroras,  or  the  inyosotis  that  nods  there  on  the 
mantel-piece,  —  a  religion  that  substitutes  beauty  for  duty,  and 
Natures  for  Nature's  God,  is  a  shameful  sham,  arid  a  curse  to 
ik>  devotees.  There  is  a  beauty  worthy  of  ail  adoration,  a 
'X'rtuty  far  above  AntLious,  or  Gula  or  Greek  aesthetics,  —  a 
'>•'»!  'ty  that  is  not  the  disjecta  memltrt,  that  modern  maudlin 
sentimentality  has  left  it,  —  but  that  perfect  and  immortal 
'Beauty  of  Holiness,'  that  outlives  marble  and  silver,  pigment, 
stylus,  and  pagan  poems  that  deify  dust." 

He  leaned  towards  her,  watching  eagerly  for  some  symptom 
of  interest  in  the  face  before  him,  and  bent  his  head  until  he 
inhaled  the  fragrance  of  the  violets  which  clustered  on  one  sido 
of  the  coil  of  hair. 

"  '  Beauty  of  Holiness.'  Show  it  to  me,  Dr.  Grey.  Is  it  at  La 
Trappe,  or  the  Hospice  of  St.  Bernard  ?  Where  are  its  temples  ? 
Where  are  its  worshippers  ?  Who  is  its  Hierophant  V  " 

"  Jesus  Christ." 

She  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  shut  out  some 
painful  vision  evoked  by  his  words. 

"  Sir,  do  you  recollect,  the  reply  ot  Laplace,  when  Napoleon 
asked  him  why  there  was  no  mention  of  God  in  his  'Jfecanique 
Celeste?7  lSire,je  n1  avals  pas  besoin  de  cette  hypothese?  1 
was  n.)t  sufficiently  insane  to  base  my  religion  of  beauty  upon  a 
holiness  that  was  buried  in  the  tomb  supplied  by  Joseph  of 
Arimathea,  —  that  was  long  ago  hunted  oxit  of  the  world  it  might 
have  purified.  Once  I  believed  in,  and  revered  what  I  supposed 
was  its  existence,  bat  1  was  speedily  disenchanted  of  my  faith, 
?or,  — 

4 1  have  s^er  those  that  wore  Heaven's  armor,  worsted : 
I  have  bear!  Truth  lie  • 

Seen  Life,  beside  the  fouuos  for  which  it  thirsted, 
Cur/te  Goi  and  die.' 

Dr.  urey,  I  do  not  desire  to  sneer  at  your  Christian  trust, 
and  God  knows  [  would  give  all  my  earthly  possessions  and 
boptM  tor  a  religior,  that  would  iusure  me  your  calm  resignaiio» 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  351 

«jid  contentment  ;  but  the  resurrection  of  my  faith  vc  old  only 
resemble  that  beautiful  floral  Palingenesis  (asserted  by  Gaffarel 
and  Kircher),  which  was  but  '  the  pale  spectre  of  a  flower 
coming  slowly  forth  from  its  own  ashes,'  and  speedily  dropping 
r/nck  intc  dust.  Leave  me  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  only  pleasure 
•sarth  can  afford  me,  the  contemplation  of  the  beautiful." 

"  TJnless  you  blend  with  it  the  true  and  good,  your  love  of 
beaaty  will  degenerate  into  the  merely  sensuous  aesthetics,  which, 
at  the  present  day,  renders  its  votaries  fastidious,  etiolated 
voluptuaries.  The  deification  of  humanity,  so  successfully  inau 
gurated  by  Feuerbach  and  Strauss,  is  now  no  longer  confined  to 
realms  of  abstract  speculation;  but  cultivated  sensualism  has 
sunk  so  low  that  popular  poets  chant  the  praises  of  Phryne  and 
Cleopatra,  and  painters  and  sculptors  seek  to  immortalize  types 
that  degrade  the  taste  of  all  lovers  of  Art.  The  true  mission 
of  Art,  whether  through  the  medium  of  books,  statues,  or  pic 
tures,  is  to  purify  and  exalt  ;  but  the  curse  of  our  age  is,  that  the 
fashionable  pantheistic  raving  about  Nature,  and  the  apotheosiz 
ing  of  physical  loveliness,  is  rapidly  sinking  into  a  worship  of  the 
vilest  elements  of  humanity  and  materialism.  Pagan  aesthetics 
wore  purer  and  nobler  than  the  system,  which,  under  that  name, 
finds  favor  with  our  generation." 

She  listened,  not  assentingly,  but  without  any  manifestation 
of  impatience,  and  while  he  talked,  her  eyes  mated  dreamily 
upon  the  yellow  beach,  where,  — 

"  Trampling-  up  the  sloping  sand. 

In  lines  outreachuig  far  and  wide, 
The  white-inaned  billows  swept  to  land," 

Whether  she  pondered  his  words,  or  was  too  entirt  ly  absorbed 
!;?  her  own  thoughts  to  heed  their  import,  he  ha.i  no  moans  of 


"Mrs.  Gerome,  what  have  you  painted  recently?'* 
"Nothing,  since  my  illness;  and  perhaps  L  shall  never  touch 
my   brush  again.      Sometimes   I   have  thought  I  would  paint  a 
picture  of  Handel   standing    \\>  l:o  listen  to  t.liat  Bad  song  froju 


861:  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

his  own  "Samson,' — ' Total  eclipse,  no  sun,  no  meow."  But  1 
doubt  whether  I  could  put  on  canvas  that  grand,  mournful,  blind 
face,  tamed  eagerly  towards  the  stage,  while  tears  ran  swiftly 
from  his  sightless  eyes.  Again,  I  have  vague  visions  of  a  deiuj 
Bchopenhauer,  seated  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  with  his  pe: 
poodle,  Putz,  howling  at  his  master's  ghastly  white  features,  - 
with  his  Indian  Oupnekhat  lying  on  his  rigid  knee,  and  L'IA 
gilded  statuette  of  Gotarna  Buddha  grinning  at  him  from  tb« 
mantel-piece,  welcoming  him  to  Nirwana.  There  stands  my 
easel,  empty  and  shrouded ;  and  here,  from  day  to  day,  1  sit  idle, 
not  lacking  ideas,  but  the  "77111  to  clothe  them.  Unlike  poor 
Maurice  de  Guerin,  who  said  that  his  '  head  was  parching;  that, 
like  a  tree  which  had  lived  its  life,  he  felt  as  though  every 
passing  wind  were  blowing  through  dead  branches  in  his  top,'  I 
feel  that  my  brain  is  as  vigorous  and  restless  as  ever,  while  my 
will  alone  is  paralyzed,  and  my  heart  withered  and  cold  within 
me." 

"  Your  brush  and  palette  will  never  yield  you  any  permanent 
happiness,  nor  promote  a  spirit  of  contentment,  until  you  select  a 
lilFerent  class  of  subjects.  Your  themes  are  all  too  sombre,  too 
dismal,  and  the  sole  motif  that  runs  through,  your  music  and 
painting  seems  to  be  in  tnemoriam.  Open  the  windows  of  you* 
gloomy  soul,  and  let  God's  sunshine  stream  into  its  cold  recesses, 
and  warm  and  gild  and  gladden  it.  Throw  aside  your  morbid 
proclivities  for  the  melancholy  and  abnormal,  and  paint  peaceful 
genre  pictures,  —  a  group  of  sunburnt,  laughing  harvesters,  or 
merry  children,  or  tulip-beds  with  butterflies  swinging  over 
them.  You  need  more  warmth  in  your  heart,  and  more  light 
in  your  pictures." 

"Eminently  correct,  —  most  incontestably  true;  but  how  dc 
you  propose  to  remedy  the  imperfe  ?t  chiaro-oscuro  of  my  charac 
ter?  Show  me  the  market  where  that  light  of  peace  and  ioj 
is  bartered,  and  I  will  constitute  you  my  broker,  with  unlimited 
orders.  No,  no.  I  see  the  fact  as  plainly  as  you  do,  but  I 
know  better  than  you  how  irremediable  it  is.  My  soul  is  » 
doleful  nwrgue,  and  my  pictures  are  dim  photographs  of  iti 


UNTIL  DEATH  JS  DO  PART.  5C3 

*orpse-tenants.  Shut  in  forever  from  the  sunshine,  I  dip  my 
brush  in  the  shadows  that  surround  me,  for,  like  Em^eclo 
cles, — 

'  I  alone 

Am  dead  to  life  and  joy;  therefore  I  read 

In  all  things  my  own  deadness.' " 

"  If  you  would  free  yourself  from  the  coils  of  an  intense  and 
^•elfish  egoism  that  fetter  you  to  the  petty  cares  and  trials  of 
your  individual  existence,  —  if  you  would  endeavor  to  forget 
for  a  seuson  the  woes  of  Mrs.  Geronie,  and  expend  a  little  more 
sympathy  on  the  sorrows  of  others,  —  if  you  would  resolve  to 
lose  sight  of  the  caprices  that  render  you  so  unpopular,  and 
wake  some  human  being  happy  by  your  aid  and  kind  words,  — 
in  fine,  if,  instead  of  selecting  as  your  model  some  cynical,  half- 
insane  woman  like  Lady  Hester  Stanhope,  you  chose  for  imitation 
the  example  of  noble  Christian  usefulness  and  self-abnegation, 
unalogous  to  that  of  Florence  Nightingale,  or  Airs.  Fry,  you 
would  soon,  find  that  your  conscience  — 

"Enough  !  You  weary  me.  Dr.  Grey,  1  thoroughly  under 
stand  your  motives,  and  honor  their  purity,  but  I  beg  that  you 
will  give  yourself  no  further  anxiety  on  my  account.  You 
can  not,  from  your  religious  standpoint,  avoid  regarding  me  as 
worse  than  a  heathen,  and  have  constituted  yourself  a  missionary 
•X)  reclaim,  and  consecrate  me.  I  am  not  quite  a  cannibal,  ready 
to  devour  you,  by  way  of  recompense  for  your  charitable  efforts 
in  my  behalf,  bu  t  I  must  assure  you  your  interest  and  sympathy 
are  sadly  wasted.  Do  you  remember  that  celebrated  '  vase  of 
Soissons,'  which  was  plundered  by  rude  soldiery  in  Ilheims, 
and  which  Clovis  so  eagerly  coveted  at  the  distribution  of  the 
spoils  ?  A  soldier  broke  it  before  the  king's  hungry  eyes,  and 
forced  him  to  take  the  worthless  mocking  fragments.  Even  so 
Hint-faced  fate  shatteied  my  happiness,  and  tauntingly  offers  nit 
the  ruins;  but  I  will  none  of  it !  " 

"  Trust  God's  overruling  mercy,  and  those  fragments,  fused  ifc 
the  furnace  of  aiHiction,  may  be  remoulded  and  restored  to  yoi' 
in  i  ristine  perfection." 

"  Impossible  !  Moreover,  I  trust  nothing  but  the  bre  sit*  of 
SO* 


354  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

human  life,  which  one  day  can  not  fail  to  release  me  from  &a 
existence  that  has  proved  an  almost  intolerable  burden.  Itoi 
know  Vogt  says, '  The  natural  laws  are  rude,  unbending  powers, 
and  I  comfort  mysolf  by  hoping  that  they  can  neither  oe  bribed 
am  browbeaten  out  of  the  discharge  of  their  duty,  whicji 
oomts  to  death  as  '  the  surest  calculation  that  can  be  made,  — 
M  the  unavoidable  keystone  of  every  individual  life.'  A  gn» 
consolation,  you  think  ?  True;  but  all  I  shall  ever  receive.  Di. 
Grey,  in  your  estimation  I  am  sinfully  inert  and  self-induJgent ; 
and  you  conscientiously  commend  my  idle  hands  to  the  benevo 
lent  work  of  knitting  socks  for  indigent  ditchers,  and  making 
jackets  for  pauper  children.  Now,  although  it  is  considered 
neither  orthodox  nor  modest  to  furnish  left-hand  with  a  trumpet 
for  sounding  the  praises  of  almsgiving  right-hand,  still  I  must 
be  allowed  to  assert  that  I  appropriate  an  ample  share  of  my 
fortune  for  charitable  piirposes.  Perhaps  you  will  tell  me  that 
I  do  not  give  in  a  proper  spirit  of  loving  sympathy,  —  that  I  hurl 
my  donations  at  my  conscience,  as  '  a  sop  to  Cerberus.'  I  have 
never  injured  any  one,  and  if  I  have  no  tender  love  in  my  heart 
to  expend  on  others,  it  is  the  fault  of  that  world  which  taught 
me  how  hollow  and  deceitful  it  is.  God  knows  I  have  never 
intentionally  wounded  any  living  thing ;  and  if  negatively  good, 
at  least  my  career  has  no  stain  of  positive  evil  upon  it.  I  am 
one  of  those  concerning  whom  Kichter  said,  '  There  are  souls; 
for  whom  life  has  no  summer.  These  should  enjoy  the  advan 
tages  of  the  inhabitants  of  iSpitzbergen,  where,  through  the 
winter's  day,  the  stars  shine  clear  as  through  the  winter's  night.' 
I  have  neither  summer  nor  polar  stars,  but  I  wait  for  Lmit  long 
night  wherein  I  shall  sleep  peacef-illy." 

"Mrs.  Gerome,  defiant  pride  bars  yoxir  heart  from  the  white- 
handed  peace  that  even  now  seeks  entrance.  Some  great  sorrow 
or  sin  has  darkened  your  past,  and,  instead  of  ejecting  its  mem 
ory,  you  hug  it  to  your  soul ;  you  make  it  a  mental  JuggernauT., 
crushing  the  hopes  and  aims  that  might  otherwise  brighten  the 
path  along  which  you  drag  this  murderous  idol.  Cast  it  awaj 
forever,  and  let  Peace  and  Hope  slasp  hands  over  its  empty 
throne." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  355 

From  that  peculiar  far-off  expression  of  tlie  human  eye  that 
generally  indicates  abstraction  of  mind,  he  feared  that  she  had 
not  heard  his  earnest  appeal ;  but  after  some  seconds,  she  smiled 
drearily,  and  repeated  with  singular  and  touching  pathos,  line* 
which  proved  that  his  words  were  not  lost  upon,  her,  — 

"  'All.  could  the  memory  cast  her  spots,  as  do 

The  snake's  brood  theirs  in  spring !  and  be  once  more 

Wholly  renewed,  to  dwell  in  the  time  that's  new,  — 

With  no  reiterance  of  those  pangs  of  yore. 

Peace,  peace  !     Ah,  forgotten  things 

Stumble  back  strangely !  and  the  ghost  of  June 

Stands  by  December's  fire,  cold,  cold  1  and  puts 

The  last  spark  out.'" 

The  mournful  sweetness  and  calmness  of  her  low  voice  made 
Dr.  Grey's  heart  throb  fiercely,  and  he  leaned  a  little  farther 
forward  to  study  her  countenance.  She  had  rested  her  elbow 
on  the  carved  side  of  the  sofa,  and  now  her  cheek  nestled  foi 
support  in  one  hand,  while  th  eother  toyed  unconsciously  with 
the  velvet  edges  of  the  Tj'iber  Studiorv/m.  Her  dress  was  of 
some  soft,  shining  fabric,  neither  satin  nor  silk,  and  its  pale  blue 
lustre  shed  a  chill,  pure  light  over  the  wan,  delicate  face,  that 
was  white  as  a  bending  lily. 

The  faint  yet  almost  mesmeric  fragrance  of  orange  flowers  and 
violets  floated  in  the  folds  of  her  garments,  and  seemed  lurking 
in  the  waves  of  gray  hair  that  glistened  in  the  bright  steady 
glow  of  the  red  grate ;  and  moved  by  one  of  those  unaccounta 
ble  impulses  that  sometimes  decide  a  man's  destiny,  Dr.  Grey 
took  the  exquisitely  beautiful  hand  from  the  book  and  enclosed 
t  in  both  of  his. 

"Mrs.  Geroine,  you  seem  strangely  unsusjicions  of  (he  real 
nature  of  the  interest  with  which  you  have  inspired  me,  soul  I 
owe  it  'o  you,  as  well  as  to  uiyself,  to  avow  the  feelings  that 
prompt  me  to  s"ck  your  society  so  frequently.  For  some  months 
after  1  met  yu,  my  professional  visits  aiforced  mo  only  litre 
ind  tantalizing  glimpses  of  you,  b  it  from  the  day  of  EUde'r, 


356  UNTIL  Z/EATH  US  DO  PART. 

death,  I  have  been  conscious  that  my  happiness  is  indissoluble 
linked  \vith  yours,  —  that  my  heart,  which  never  before  acknow 
ledged  allegiance  to  any  woman,  is  — 

"  For  God's  sake,  stop  !     I  can  not  listen  to  you." 

She  had  wrung  her  hand  violently  from  his  clinging  fingrnsj 
and,  springing  to  her  feet,  stood  waving  him  from  her,  while 
an  expression  of  horror  came  swiftly  into  her  eyes  and  over  he* 
whole  countenance. 

Dr.  Grey  rose  also,  and  though  a  sudden  pallor  spread  from 
his  lips  to  his  temples,  his  calm  voice  did  not  falter. 

"  Is  it  because  you  can  never  return  iny  love,  that  you  so 
vehemently  refuse  to  hear  its  avowal  ?  Is  it  because  your  own 
heart  —  " 

"  It  is  because  your  love  is  an  insult,  and  must  not  be  ut 
tered  ! " 

She  shivered  as  if  rudely  buffeted  by  some  freezing  blast,  and 
the  steely  glitter  leaped  up,  like  the  flash  of  a  poniard,  in  her 
large,  dilating  eyes. 

Shocked  and  perplexed,  he  looked  for  a  moment  at  her  writh 
ing  features,  and  put  out  his  hand. 

"  Can  it  be  possible  that  you  so  utterly  misapprehend  me  ? 
You  surely  can  not  doubt  the  earnestness  of  an  aifection  which 
impels  me  to  offer  my  hand  and  heart  to  you,  —  the  first  woman 
I  have  ever  loved.  Will  you  refuse  — 

"  Stand  back  !  Do  not  touch  rne  !  Ah,  —  God  help  me  ! 
Take  your  hand  from  mine.  Are  you  blind  ?  If  you  were  an 
archangel  I  could  cot  listen  to  you,  for  —  for — oh,  Dr.  Grey!  " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  staggered  towards  a 
chair. 

A  horrible,  sickening  suspicion  made  his  brain  whirl  sjid  lie 
heart  stand  still.  He  followed  her,  and  said,  pleadingly,  — 

"  Do  not  keep  me  in  painful  suspense.  Why  is  my  declara 
tion  of  devoted  aifection  so  revolting  to  you?  Why  can  yoi 
not  at  least  permit  me  to  express  the  love  — 

"Because  that  love  dishonors  me  !  Dr.  Grey,  I -  —  am  —  a  — 
wife!" 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  357 

The  words  fell  slowly  from  her  white  lips,  as  if  aer  heart's 
blood  were  dripping  with  them,  an.l  a  deep,  purplish  spot  burned 
on  each  cheek,  to  attest  her  utter  humiliation. 

Dr.  Grey  gazed  at  her,  with  a  bewildered,  incredidous  expres 
sion. 

'"Yoxi  mean  that  your  heart  is  buried  in  your  husband's 
f  rave  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  that  were  true,  you  and  I  might  be  snared  this  shame 
ard  agony." 

A.  low  wail  escaped  her,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her  arms. 

"  Mrs.  Gerome,  is  not  your  husband  dead?  " 

"  Dead  to  me,  —  but  not  yet  in  his  grave.  The  man  I  mar- 
riod  is  still  alive." 

She  heard  a  half-stifled  groan,  and  buried  her  face  deeper  in 
her  arms  to  avoid  the  sight  of  the  suffering  she  had  caused. 

For  some  time  the  stillness  of  death  reigned  around  them,  and 
when  at  last  the  wretched  woman  raised  her  eyes,  she  saw  Dr. 
Grey  standing  beside  her,  with  one  hand  on  the  back  of  her  chair, 
thn  other  clasped  over  his  eyes,  Ileverently  she  turned  and 
pressed  her  lips  to  his  cold  lingers,  and  he  felt  her  hob  teara 
falling  upon  them,  as  she  said,  falteringly, — 

"  Forgive  mo  the  paiu  that  I  have  innocently  inflicted  on  you. 
God  is  my  witness,  I  did  not  imagine  you  cared  for  me.  I  sup 
posed  you  pitied  me,  and  were  only  interested  in.  saving  my 
miserable  soul.  The  servants  told  me  you  were  very  soon  to  be 
married  to  a  young  girl  who  lived  with  your  sister;  and  I  never 
dreamed  that  your  noble,  generous  heart  felt  any  interest  in  me, 
save  that  of  genuine  Christian  compassion,  for  my  loneliness  and 
dusolation.  If  I  had  suspected  your  feelings,  I  would  have 
gone  away  immediately,  or  told  you  all.  Oh,  that  I  had  never 
come  here !  —  that  I  had  never  left  my  safe  retreat,  near  Funchal  I 
Then  I  woald  not  have  stabbed  the  heart  of  the  only  man 
<s'hom  I  respect,  revere,  and  trust." 

Some  moments  elapsed  ere  he  could  fully  command  himself, 
•tad  when  he  spoke  he  had  entirely  regained  composure. 

"  Do  not  reproach  yourself.  The  fault  has  been  mine,  rathex 
than  yours,  lino  wing  that  some  mystery  enveloped  your  early 


558  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DJ  PART. 

life,  1  should  not  have  allowed  my  affections  to  cent;e  so  com 
pletoly  in  one  concerning  whose  antecedents  I  knew  absolutely 
nothing.  I  have  been  almost  culpably  rash  and  blind,  —  but  I 
could  not  look  into  your  beautiful,  sad  eyes,  and  doubt  that  yon 
were  worthy  of  the  love  that  sprang  up  unbidden  in  my  heart 
1  knew  that  you  were  irreligious,  but  I  believed  1  could  wi; 
you  back  to  Christ ;  and  when  I  tell  you  that,  after  living  thirty 
eight  years,  you  are  the  only  woman  I  ever  met  whom  1  wished 
to  call  my  wife,  you  can  in  some  degree  realize  my  confidence  iu 
the  innate  purity  of  your  character.  God  only  knows  how 
severely  I  am  punished  for  my  rashness,  how  profoundly  I  de 
plore  the  strange  infatuation  that  so  utterly  blinded  me.  Ai 
least,  I  am  grateful  that  my  brief  madness  has  not  involved  you 
in  sin  and  additional  suffering." 

The  burning  spots  faded  from  her  cheeks  as  she  listened  to 
his  low,  solemn  words,  and  when  he  ended,  she  clasped  her 
hands  passionately,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"  Do  not  judge  me,  until  you  know  all.  I  am  not  as  un 
worthy  as  you  fear.  Do  not  withdraw  your  confidence  from 
me." 

He  shook  his  head,  and  answered,  sadly, — 

"  A  wife,  yet  bereft  of  your  husband's  protection !  A  wife, 
wandering  among  strangers,  and  a  deserter  from  the  home  you 
vowed  to  cheer!  Your  own  admission  cries  out  in  judgment 
against  you." 

He  walked  to  the  table  and  picked  up  his  gloves,  and  Mrs. 
Geroine  rose  and  advanced  a  few  steps. 

"Dr.  Grey,  you  will  come  now  and  then  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  No ;  for  the  present  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you." 

"  Ah  !  how  brittle  are  men's  promises  !  Did  you  not  assure 
Elsie  that  you  would  never  forsake  her  wretched  child  ?  " 

"  Our  painful  relations  invalidate  that  promise,  —  cancel  tbat 
pledge.  I  can  not  visit  fou  as  formerly;  still,  I  shall  at  all 
times  be  glad  to  serve  you ;  and  you  have  only  to  acquaint  m«r 
your  wishes  to  insure  their  execution." 

"  Remember  how  solitary,  how  desolate,  I  am." 

"  A  wife  should  be  neither,  while  her  husband  lives," 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAUL  369 

The  cold  severity  of  his  tone  wounded  her  inexprfct*sibly,  and 
elie  haughtily  drew  herself  up. 

"  Dr.  Grey  will  at  least  allow  me  an  opportunity  cf  explain 
ing  the  circ\imstances  that  he  seems  to  regard  as  so  heinous  ?  " 

lie  looked  at  the  proud  but  quivering  mouth,  —  into  the  great^ 
shadowy,  gray  eyes,  and  a  heavy  sigh  escaped  him. 

**  Perhaps  it  is  better  that  I  should  know  your  his'' -Dry,  for  :t 
*nii  diminish  my  own  unhappiness  to  feel  assured  that  you  are 
worthy  of  the  estimate  I  placed  upon  you  one  hour  ago.  Shall 
I  come  to-morrow,  or  will  you  tell  me  now  what  you  desire  me 
to  know?  " 

"  1  can  not  sleep  until  1  have  exonerated  myself  in  your 
clear,  truthful,  holy  eyes :  I  can  not  endure  that  you  should 
think  harshly  of  me,  even  for  a  day.  This  room  is  suffocating ! 
I  will  meet  you  on  the  portico ;  and  yonder,  by  the  sea,  I  will 
show  you  my  life." 

She  went  to  the  escritoire,  opened  one  of  the  drawers,  and 
took  out  a  package.  "Wrapping  a  cloak  around  her,  she  quitted 
the  parlor,  and  found  Dr.  Grey  leaning  against  one  of  the 
columns. 

lie  did  not  offer  her  his  arm  as  formerly,  but  slowly  and 
silently  they  walked  down  towards  the  beach,  where  the  surf 
was  rolling  heavily  in  with  a  steady  roar,  and  tossing  aht*5**  of 
around  the  stone  piers. 

4 '  While  far  across  the  hilV 
A  dark  and  bra.  ">n  suneet  ribbed  with  black, 

Hk*»  J-h«»  "ullen  eyeballs  of  the  pls^ra/a,1* 


360  UNTIL  DEATH  UN  DO  PART. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

DOCTOR  GREY,  had  you  possessed  a  tithe  of  the  iugev 
nuity  of  Peiresc,  you  might  long  ago  have  interpreted 
the  deep,  dark  incisions  in  my  charact*^,  which,  like 
the  incantations  on  his  celebrated  amethyst,  .show  where  tha 
t&mince  of  luckless  events  inscribed  my  history  with  mournful 
ciphers.  Elsie's  hints  would  have  furnished  any  woman  with  a 
clewj  but,  since  you  have  not  availed  yourself  of  their  aid,  I 
must  lift  the  shroud  that  hides  the  corpse  of  my  youth,  my 
happiness,  my  faith  in  man,  my  hope  in  God,  Ah  !  unto  what 
nhall  I  liken  it  ?  This  ruined,  wretched  thing  1  call  iu/  life  ? 
To  the  Tauk  e  IZerra,  —  standing  in  a  dreary  waste,  lifting  its 
vast,  keyless  arch  helplessly  to  heaven  ?  Even  such  a  crum 
bling  arch,  beautiful  and  grand  in  its  glorious  promise,  is  tho 
incomplete,  crownless  life  of  Agla  Gerorue,  —  a  lonely  and  melan 
choly  monument  of  a  gigantic  failure.  Two  months  be^'rw  my 
birth,  my  father,  Henderson  Flewellyn,  died,  and  when  £  was 
three  hours  old,  my  poor  young  mother  followed  him,  leaving 
me  to  the  care  of  her  nurse,  Elsie  Maclean,  and  of  an  old  uncle 
who  was  at  that  time  residing  in  Copenhagen.  Having  no 
relatives  to  dictate,  Elsie  named  me  Vashti,  for  my  mother; 
but  my  great-uncle  wrote  that  my  baptism,  must  be  deferred 
until  he  could  be  present,  and  instructed  her  to  call  me  Evelyn, 
after  himself.  But  the  stubborn  Scotch  will  would  not  bend, 
and  my  name  was  written  in  the  family  Bible,  Vashti  Flewellyn. 
Before  the  expiration  of  three  yci-.rs,  Mr.  Mitchell  Evelyn  died, 
bequeathing  his  fortune  to  me,  cts  Evelyn  Flewellyn,  and 
consigning  me  to  the  guardianship  of  Mr.  Lucian  "W right,  a 
wi(li>wed  minister  of  New  York  I  was  a  feeble,  sickly  child, 
hovering  continually  upon  the  confines  of  death,  and,  as  <"ity  aii 
was  deemed  injurious  to  rue,  Elsie  kept  me  at  a  farm-house  on 
the  Hudson,  belonging  to  the  estate  that  I  was  destined  to 
inherit.  Here  I  remained  until  my  tenth  year,  when  Mr. 
Wright  removed  me  to  the  vicinity  of  Albany,  and  placed  me 
under  the  care  of  his  maiden  sister,  who  had  a  small  class  of 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  361 

girls  to  educate.  Elsie  accompanied  ar.d  watched  over  me,  and 
here  I  spent  four  quiet,  happy  years;  but  the  death  of  my 
teacher  set  me  once  more  afloat,  and  I  was  carried  to  New  York, 
and  left  at  a  large  and  fashionable  boarding-school.  I  was  fond 
of  study,  and  boundlessly  ambitious,  and  soon  formed  a  warm, 
close  friendship  with  a  teacher  who  entered  the  institution 
ifter  I  became  one  of  its  inmates.  I  had  no  one  to  love  but 
Jfilsie,  who  never  left  me,  and  consequently,  I  gave  to  Edith 
JHexter,  the  young  teacher,  all  the  affection  that  I  would  have 
lavished  on  parents,  brothers,  and  sisters,  had  they  been  granted 
to  me.  She  was  several  years  my  senior,  and  the  loveliest 
woman  I  ever  saw.  lleared  in.  affluence,  her  family  had  become 
Impoverished,  and  Edith  was  thrown  upon  her  own  resources 
ibr  a  support.  My  father's  fortune  was  very  large,  and  tho 
property  left  me  by  Mr.  Evelyn  swelled  my  estate  to  ^ery 
unusual  proportions.  Mr.  Wright  had  carefully  attended  to 
the  investment  of  the  income,  and  I  was  regarded  as  the  heiress 
of  enormous  wealth.  Tenderly  att.ri.  died  to  Edith,  whose  beauty, 
intelligence,  juid  varied  accomplishments  rendered  her  pecu 
liarly  attractive,  I  loaded  her  with  presents,  and  determined 
that  us  soon  as  my  educational  career  ended,  I  would  establish 
myself  in  an  elegant  residence  on  Fifth  Avenue,  take  Edith  to 
live  under  my  roof,  treat  her  always  as  my  sister,  and  share  my 
ample  fortune  with  her.  Dr.  (Jroy,  you  can  form  no  adequate 
conception  of  the  depth  of  the  love  I  entertained  for  her.  Day 
and  night  my  busy  brain  devised  schemes  for  lightening  her 
Labors,  for  promoting  her  happiness;  and  I  spared  no  exertion 
to  sliield  her  from  the  petty  vexations  and  humiliating  annoy 
ances  incident  to  her  situation.  Waking,  I  prayed  for  her ; 
sleeping  in  her  arms,  I  dreamed  of  the  future  we  should  spend 
together.  At  the  close  of  the  session,  slio  went  into  Vermont 
£o  visit  her  invalid  mother,  and  1  to  Mr.  Wright's  quiet  home, 
to  remain  until  the  end  of  vacation.  The  minister  was  a  kind- 
hearted  but  weak  old  man,  who  treated  me  tenderly,  and 
humored  every  caprice  that  attacked  my  brain.  I  had  never 
before  been,  his  guest,  and  here,  at  his  house,  on  the  second  day 
of  my  sojourn,  I  met  his  favoritfj  nephew,  Maurice  Carlyle.n 
31 


562  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Mrs.  Gerome  uttered  the  name  through  firmly  set  teeth,  anfi 
the  blue  cords  on  her  forel  ead  tangled  terribly. 

Clenching  her  fingers,  she  drew  a  long  breath,  and  continued,— 

"At  that  time,  he  was  by  far  the  most  fascinating,  and 
certainly  the  handsomest  man  I  have,  ever  met,  and  when  J 
•recall  the  beauty  of  his  face,  the  grace  of  his  manner,  the  iiubU- 
Symmetry  of  his  figure,  and  the  sparkling  vivacity  of  his  coif 
versation,  I  do  not  wonder  that  from  the  first  hour  of  our 
acquaintance  he  charmed  me.  I  was  but  a  child,  a  prouvl, 
impulsive  young  thing,  full  of  romance,  full  of  wild  dreams  of 
manly  chivalry  and  feminine  constancy  and  devotion;  and 
Maurice  Carlyle  seemed  the  perfect  incarnation  of  all  my  glow 
ing  ideals  of  knightly  excellence  and  heroism.  He  was  thirty, 
—  I  not  yet  sixteen ;  he  poor  and  fastidious,  —  I  generous  and 
trusting,  and  possessed  of  one  of  the  largest  estates  on  the 
continent.  He  had  spent  much  of  his  life  abroad,  and  was  aa 
polished  as  any  courtier  who  ever  graced  St.  Cloud  or  St.  James; 
I  an  impetuous  young  simpleton,  who  knew  nothing  of  the 
world,  save  those  tantalizing  glimpses  snatched  from  behind  the 
bars  of  a  boarding-school.  Here,  examine  these  portraits,  while 
the  light  still  lingers,  and  you  will  see  the  woful  disparity  that 
existed  between  us  at  that  period.  They  were  painted  a  fort 
night  after  I  met  him." 

She  opened  a  velvet  case,  and  laid  before  her  companion  two 
oval  ivory  miniatures,  richly  bet  with  large  pearls. 

Dr.  Grey  took  them  both  in  his  hand,  and,  by  the  dull,  lurid 
glow  that  tipped  a  ridge  of  clouds  lying  along  the  western  hori 
zon,  he  saw  two  pictures. 

One,  a  remarkably  handsome  man,  with  brilliant  black  eyes 
and  regular  features,  and  a  cast  of  countenance  that  forcibly 
reminded  him  of  the  likenesses  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  while  the  ex 
pression  denoted  more  of  chicane  than  chivalry  in  his  character. 
Hie  other,  a  fresh,  sweet,  girlish  face,  eloepaent  with  innocence 
and  purity,  with  clear,  gray  eyes,  overhung  by  jetty  lashes,  and 
overarched  by  black  brows,  while  a  mass  of  dark  hair  waa 
heaped  in  short  curls  on  her  forehead  and  temples,  and  fell  in 
long  ringlets  over  her  neck. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  363 

Dr.  Grey  looked  at  Mrs.  Gerome,  and  now  at  the  pcrtrait, 
tut  the  resembmnce  could  nowhere  be  traced,  save  in  the  deli 
cate  jet  haughty  arch  of  the  eyebrows,  and  the  dainty  moulding 
of  the  faultless  nose. 

While  he  glanced  from  one  to  the  other,  she  placed  a  thinx? 
xniniature  beside  those  in  his  hand,  and  he  started  at  sight  of  e. 
Surpassingly  lovely  countenance,  which  recalled  tne  outlines  of 
one  that  he  had  left  in  his  library  three  hours  before,  where 
Miss  Dexter  sat  reading  to  Muriel. 

"There  you  have  the  gods  of  ray  old  worship, — Edith  aud 
Maurice.  Can  you  Avonder  at  my  infatuation?" 

She  took  the  pictures,  and  a  derisive  sniile  distorted  her  lips, 
as  she  looked  shiveringly  at  them,  and  hastily  replaced  them 
en  their  velvet  cushions.  Closing  the  spring  with  a  convul 
sive  snap,  she  tossed  the  case  on  the  terrace,  Avhence  it  fell  tc 
the  grass  below;  and  drew  her  blue  veKTet  drapery  closer  around 
her. 

"Dr.  Grey,  you  know  quite  enough  of  huimm  nature  to  an 
ticipate  what  followed.  Three  days  after  I  met  Maurice  Carlyle, 
he  swore  deathless  devotion  to  his  'gray-eyed  angel,'  and  of 
fered  me  his  hand.  Ah  !  Avhen  I  recall  thai,  evening,  and  think 
of  the  words  uttered  so  tenderly,  so  passionately,  Avhen  I  summon 
before  me  that  radiant  face,  and  listen  again  to  the  voice  that  so 
utterly  bewitched  me,  the  remembrance  maddens  me,  and  I  feel 
a  murderous  hate  of  my  race  stii-ring  my  blood  into  fierce 
throbs.  With  my  hands  folded  in  his,  we  planned  our  future, 
painted  visions  that  made  my  brain  reel,  and  Avheii  his  lips 
touched  my  forehead,  as  sacred  seal  of  our  betrothal,  I  felt  that 
Mirth  could  add  nothing  to  my  blessed  lot.  Of  course  Mr, 
Wiight  warmly  sanctioned  my  choice,  drugging  his  conscience 
with  the  reflection  that  if  Maurice  was  extravagant  and  inert, 
my  fortune  would  obviate  the  necessity  of  his  attending  to  hin 
nominal  profession,  that  of  the  law.  The  old  ?nan  iiusistocL 
however,  that  as  I  Avas  a  mere  child,  we  must  defer  our  mar 
riage  two  years.  Mr.  Curl  vie  frowned,  and  vowed  ho  could  iJOt 
live  more  than  twelve  months  Avithout  his  'peerles?  prke,' 
pjri  like  any  other  silly  girl,  I  believed  it  as  unhesitatingly  as  J 


364  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

did  the  l<-ssons  from  the  gospels  that  were  read  to  us  idght  and 
morning.  What  cloudless  days  flew  over  my  young  head, 
during  the  ensuing  month  ;  days  wherein  I  never  tired  of  kneel 
ing  and  thanking  God  for  the  marvellous  blessing  of  Maurice 
Garlvle's  love.  Life  was  mantling  in  a  crystal  goblet,  like  eau 
&  vie  de  Dantzic,  and  1  could  not  even  taste  it  without  watching 
'.he  gold  sparkles  rise  and  fail  and  flash  ;  and  how  could  T  dream, 
then,  that  the  draught  was  not  brightened  with  gilt  leaves,  but 
really  flavored  with  curare  f  The  only  drawback  to  my  happi 
ness  was  Elsie's  opposition  to  my  engagement,  and  Mr.  Carlyle'a 
refusal  to  allow  me  to  acquaint  Edith  with  my  betrothal.  He 
was  so '  furiously  jealous  of  that  yellow-haired  woman  whom  hia 
darling  loved  too  well.'  It  would  be  quite  time  enough  to  inform 
her  of  my  happiness  when  I  returned  to  school.  From  the  begin 
ning,  Elsie  distrusted,  disliked,  and  eyed  him  suspiciously,  but 
her  expostulations  and  arguments  only  strengthened  his  influence, 
and  partially  overthrew  hers.  One  day  Mr.  Carlyle  sought  mo 
hi  great  haste,  and  with  considerable  agitation  informed  me  that 
he  had  been  tinexpectedly  summoned  abroad.  Business,  with 
the  details  of  which  he  tenderly  forbore  to  weary  me,  would 
detain  him  many  months  in  Europe,  and  he  implored  me  to 
consent  to  a  private  marriage  before  his  departure.  Mr. 
Wright  was  in  very  feeble  health,  had  been  threatened  with 
paralysis,  and  my  ardent  lover  would  be  too  unendurably  miser 
able  separated  from  me,  when  death  might  at  any  moment  rob 
me  of  my  guardian.  I  consented,  and  hastened  to  obtain  Mr. 
Wright's  sanction.  That  day  chanced  to  t«  one  of  his  despond 
ent,  hypochondriacs!  seasons,  and  after  some  persuasion  on  my 
part,  and  much  sophistry  from  his  nephew,  the  weak  old  man 
yielded.  Then  jay  lover  pressed  his  advantage,  and  vowed  he 
eould  never  leave  me,  that  liis  young  bride  must  accompany  him 
fco  .London,  that  my  mind  would  be  too  much  engrossed  by 
thoughts  of  him  to  permit  the  possibility  of  my  studying  advantu.- 
g90:isly  in  his  absence,  and  that  he  would  assume  the  responsi 
bility  of  superintending  and  perfecting  his  wife's  education.  Mr 
Wright  demurred;  Mr.  Carlyle  raved;  I  wept.  Maurice  clasped 
me  in  his  arms,  and  in  the  midst  of  my  tears  and  pleadings,  mj 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  .  367 

guardian  succumbed.  It  was  arranged  that  our  marriage  shculcr<- 
aike  place  within  a  fortnight,  and  that  we  shcmld  immediately 
start  to  Europe.  Poor  Elsie! — truest,  wisest,  best  friend  God 
ever  gave  me,  —  was  enraged  and  distressed  beyond  expression 
She  wept,  wrung  her  hands,  and  falling  on  her  knees  erireateJ 
cie  not  to  execute  my  insane  purpose,  —  assured  me  I  was  a  lair;  I 
led  to  sacrifice,  was  the  victim  of  an  infamous  scheme  betwews 
uncle  and  nephew  to  possess  themselves  of  my  estate,  and  she  ' 
exhausted  argument  and  persuasion  in  attempting  to  iccall  my 
wandering  common  sense.  Much  as  I  loved  her,  this  bitter 
vituperation  of  my  idol  incensed  and  estranged  me,  and  I  tem 
porarily  forbade  her  to  enter  my  presence.  Poor,  dear,  devoted 
Elsie!  When  my  heart  relented,  and  I  sought  her  to  assure 
her  of  my  forgiveness,  tears  and  groans  greeted  me,  and  I  found 
her  sitting  at  the  foot  of  her  bed,  with  her  face  hidden  in  her 
apron." 

Stretching  her  arms  towards  the  grave,  Mrs.  Gerome  paused ; 
her  lips  quivered,  and  two  tears  rolled  down  her  cheekc. 

"  Ah  !  dear  old  heart !  Brave,  true,  tender  soul !  How 
different  my  lot  would  have  been  had  I  heeded  her  prayers 
and  counsel !  Not  until  I  lie  down  yonder,  and  mingle  my  dust 
with  hers,  can  I,  even  for  an  instant,  forget  her  faithful,  sleepless 
eare  and  love.  I  believe  she  is  the  only  human  being  who  was 
ever  tenderly  and  truly  attached  to  me,  and  God  knows  ] 
learned  before  I  lost  her  how  much  her  affection  was  worth." 

The  cold,  ringing  voice  grew  tremulous,  wavering,  and  some 
moments  passed  before  Mrs.  Gerome  continued,— 

"  Mr.  Carlyle  preferred  a  private  wedding,  but  I  insisted  upon 
&  ceremony  at  the  church  where  Mr.  Wright  officiated,  and  imme 
diately  telegraphed  to  Edith,  requesting  her  pi-esence  ait  brides 
maid,  and  offering  to  provide  her  outfit  and  defray  all  ex  pews*!?-, 
if  she  would  accompany  us  to  Europe.  My  betrothed  bit  ME 
lip,  and  objected ;  but  on  this  point,  at  least,  I  was  firm,  and 
assured  him  I  would  not  be  married  unless  Edith  could  bo  with 
me.  Sho  wrote,  declining  my  invitation  to  Ei;rope,  but  came  to 
New  York,  the  day  of  my  wedding.  WTien  I  look  back  at  what 
followed,  T  have  a  vague,  confused  feeUrM?,  similar  to  that  which 


564 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 


.-results  from  taking  opium.  Mr  Carlyle  ha  1  jositivelj  inter 
dieted  my  taking  Elsie  to  Europe,  assuring  me  that  his  wife 
should  not  be  in  leading-strings  to  a  spoiled  and  pres*unptiiout 
nurse,  and  promising  me  that,  when  we  returned  to  America, 
ehe  might  occupy  the  position  of  housekeeper  in  cur  establish 
ment.  A  bsorbed  by  my  own  supreme  happiness,  I  srarceh  saw 
Edith  until  we  were  dressed  for  the  ceremony,  and  when  she 
came  and  leaned  against  the  table  where  the  bridal  presents  were 
arranged,  I  noticed  that  she  was  pale  and  much  agitated,  but 
ascribed  her  emotion  to  grief  a^  ray  approaching  departure. 
Several  of  my  schoolmates  officiated  as  bridesmaids,  and  a 
large  party  assembled  at  the  church  to  witness  the  marriage. 
Mr.  Carlyle  was  a  great  favorite  in  society,  and  his  friends  were 
invited  to  the  wedding  breakfast  at  the  parsonage.  It  was  on 
the  bright  morning  of  my  sixteenth  birthday,  when  I  stood  be 
fore  the  altar  and  listened  to  and  uttered  the  words  that  made 
me  a  wife.  Every  syllable,  every  intonation,  of  the  minister's 
voice  is  branded  on  my  memory  as  with  a  red-hot  iron :  '"Wilt 
thou  have  this  man  to  thy  wedded  husband,  to  live  together 
after  God's  ordinance,  in  the  holy  estate  of  matrimony  ?  Wilt 
thou  obey  him,  serve  him,  love,  honor,  and  keep  him,  in  sickness 
and  in  health ;  and  forsaking  all  others,  keep  thee  only  unto 
him,  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live  ? '  And  there,  before  the 
altar,  with  the  stained  glass  making  a  rainbow  behind  the  pulpit, 
I  answered,  'I will?  Oh,  Dr.  Grey,  pity  me  !  pity  me  i 5> 

A  cry  of  anguish  escaped  her,  and  sho  extended  her  aroas 
until  her  hands  resud  on  her  companion's  shoulder. 

In  silence  he  bent  his  head,  and  put  Ms  lips  to  the  iig&tlj 
clasped  fingers. 

"  Tell  me,  sir,  —  if  that  vow  means  that  ^uan  may  make  a 
jalavthing  of  God's  statutes  ?  If  it  binds  for  one  hour,  does  it 
not  bind  while  life  lasts  ?  " 

"  'So  long  as  ye  both  shall  IweJ "  answered  Dr.  Grey,  ssl- 
smnly;  and  he  gently  removed  her  hand,  and  drew  himself  a 
little  farther  from  her. 

She  was  too  painfully  engrossed  by  sad  reioiaiscenc«a  to 
notice  the  action,  and  resumed  her  narrative 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST.  367 

"  There  was  a  gay  party  at  the  breakfast,  and  I  cot-  d  not  re 
move  my  fascinated  eyes  from  the  radiant  face  c  f  my  husband, 
who  had  never  seemed  half  so  princely  as  now,  when  he  waa 
wholly  my  own.  Once  he  bent  his  handsome  head  to  mine,  and 
whispered,  iLa  PeregrinaJ  the  pet  name  he  had  given  me,  be 
cause  he  averred  that,  in  his  estimation,  my  love  wa,a  worth  as 
fnany  ducats  as  that  celebrated  pearl  of  .Philip.  lLa  jPeregrina,' 
indeed  !  Ah  !  he  melted  it  in  gall  and  hemlock,  and  drained  it 
at  his  wedding  feast.  My  heart  was  so  overflowing  with  happi 
ness  that  I  slipped  my  fingers  into  his,  and,  in  answer  to  his 
fond  epithet,  whispered",  '  Maurice,  my  king.'  " 

The  speaker  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  an  expression  of 
disgust  and  -scorn  usurped  the  place  of  mournfulness. 

"Dr.  (Irey,  I  deserved  my  punishment,  for  no  Aztec  ever 
worshipped  his  ston^  God  more  devoutly  than  I  did  my  black- 
eyed,  smooth-lipped  idol.  '  Thou  shalt  have  wo  other  goda 
before  me.'  Ah!  my  '  graven  image  '  seemed  so  marvellously 
godlike  that  [  bowed  down  before  it;  and  there,  in  the  midst  of 
my  adoration,  the  curse  of  idolatry  smote  me.  Half  bewildered 
by  the  rapture  that  made  my  heart  throb  almost  to  suffocation,  I 
stole  away  from  the  guests  and  hid  myself  in  the  small  hot-house 
attached  to  Mr.  Wright's  study,  longing  for  a  little  quiet  that 
would  enable  me  to  realize  all  the  blessedness  of  my  lot.  With 
childish  glee  I  toyed  with  my  title,  - — with  my  new  name, — Mau 
rice  Cariyle's  wife  • —  Evelyn  Carlyle  !  How  pretty  it  sounded,  — 
hovr  holy  it  seemed  !  My  future  was  as  brilliant  as  that  vast 
enchanted  hall  into  which  poor  Nouronihar  was  enticed  through 
her  insane  love  for  Vuthek,  and,  like  hers,  my  illusion  was  dis 
pelled  by  a  decree  that  strangled  hope  in  my  heart,  and  envel 
oped  it  in  flames." 

Here  the  Hood  of  melancholy  memories  drowned  her  words, 
«o.d,  crossing  her  arms  on  the  stone  balustrade,  she  at  silent 
and  moody 

In  the  dusky,  crepuscular  light,  Dr.  Grey  could  no  longer 
iiscrtm  the  emotions  that  printed  themselves  so  legibly  on  her 
xmnteimn-re ;  but  the  outline  of  her  face,  and  the  listless,  hope 
less  droop  of  her  figure,  curvjd  between  him  aiid  the  dun  wast* 
of  waters.. 


S68  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Overuead  a  few  dim,  hazy  stars  shivered  on  the  ragged  skirt* 
of  trailing  gray  clouds,  and  the  ceaseless  rustle  of  the  shuddering 
rx>plars  formed  a  mournful  accompaniment  to  the  muttering  oi 
the  ocean,  whose  weary  waves  were  sobbing  themselves  to  rest, 
like  scourged  but  unconquered  children. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  patience,  Dr.  Grey.  You  forbear  (y 
burry  me,  even  as  you  would  shrink  from  rudely  jostling  Oi 
pushing  forward  the  mattock  which  slowly  digs  into  a  grave,  — 
.•removing  human  mould  and  crumbling  coffin,  searching  for 
*iie  skeleton  beneath.  Exhuming  human  bones  is  melancholy 
work,  but  sadder  still  is  the  mission  of  one  who  disinters  the 
ashes  of  a  woman's  love,  hope,  and  faith.  Across  the  centre  cf 
Mr.  Wright's  hot-house  ran  a  light  trellis  of  fine  lattice-work, 
cut  into  an  arch  and  covered  with  the  dense  luxuriant  foliage  of 
the  bignonia  trained  over  it.  Behind  this  screen  I  had  ensconced 
my  happy  self,  and  sat  idly  bruising  the  leaves  of  a  rose  gera 
niuni  that  chanced  to  be  near  me,  when  my  blissful  reverie  was 
interrupted  by  the  sound  of  that  voice  winch  had  stolen  my 
heart,  my  reason,  my  common  sense.  Believing  that  he  had 
missed  and  was  searching  for  his  bride,  1  rosie  and  peeped 
through  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  clambering  vine  that  divided 
us.  Not  four  feet  distant  stood  my  husband  of  an  hour,  with 
his  arms  clasped  fondly  around  Edith,  who,  in  a  broken,  pas 
sionate  voice,  denounced  his  perfidy  and  heartlessness.  Vehe 
mently  he  pleaded  for  an  opportunity  to  exculpate  himself,  and 
there,  tearful  and  sobbing,  with  her  head  on  his  bosom,  my  friend 
listened  to  an  explanation  that  was  destined  to  enlighten  more 
than  one  person.  From  his  lips  I  learned  that  he  had  become 
entangled  in  certain  financial  difficulties  that  involved  his  honot 
as  a  gentleman ;  he  had  used  money  to  enable  him  to  embark  in 
a  speculation  which,  if  successful,  would  have  afforded  him  ihs 
means  of  marrying  in  accordance  with  the  dictates  of  his  heart ; 
but,  like  the  majority  of  nefarious  schemes,  it  failed  signallj-, 
and  fear  of  detection,  and  the  absolute  necessity  of  obtaining  a 
largo  amount  of  money,  had  goaded  him  to  the  desperate  step 
of  sacrificing  his  happiness  and  offering  his  hai)d  to  me.  He 
Bfcrained  her  to  his  breast,  kissed  her  repeatedly,  and  impiously 


•UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAR'l.  368 

calied  Cod  to  witness  that  ho  loved  her,  and  her  only,  .ru)y 
tenderly  ;  that  never  for  an  instant  had  his  affection,  wandered 
from  her,  '  his  beautiful,  idolized  darling.'  He  bitterly  de 
nounced  his  folly,  cursed  the  hour  that  had  thrown  me  aiifi  m_y 
fortune  in  his  path,  and  swore  that  he  utterly  loathed  a.n: 
despised  the  silly  child  whose  wealth  alone  had  it  ado  her  hu 
lupe ;  and,  as  he  flatteringly  expressed  it,  his  'hated  and  iuteie 
rablo  incubus.'  lie  had  intended  to  spare  her  and  himself  tht 
itgony  of  this  hour,  —  had  determined  to  remain  always  in 
Europe,  where  he  could  escape  the  mocking  contrast  of  his  bride 
and  his  beloved.  With  indescribable  scorn,  and  a  wonderful 
fertility  of  derisive  epithets,  he  held  me  up,  as  on  the  point  of 
a  scalpel,  and  proved  the  utter  impossibility  of  his  having  been 
influenced  by  any  other  than  the  most  grossly  mercenary  mo 
tives  ;  while,  between  the  bursts  of  invective  against  me,  he 
lavished  upon  her  a  hundred  fond,  tender,  passionate  phrases  of 
endearment  that  had  never  been  applied  to  me.  Pressing  one 
hand  on  her  head,  he  raised  the  other,  and  called  Heaven  to 
witness,  that,  although  the  world  might  regard  him  as  the  hus 
band  of  '  that  sallow,  gray-eyed,  silly  girl,'  whose  gold  alone 
had  bought  his  name,  the  only  woman  he  could  ever  love  was 
his  own  beautiful  Edith ;  and,  should  death  come  to  his  aid  and 
free  him  from  the  detested  bond  that  liidced  him  to  the  heiress, 
he  swore  he  would  not  lose  a  day  in  claiming  the  lovely  wife 
that  fate  had  denied  him.  All  this,  and  much  more,  which  ] 
have  not  now  the  requisite  patience  to  recapitulate,  fell  on  my 
ears,  startling  me  more  painfully  than  the  trumpet-blast  of  the 
Last  Judgment  will  ever  do.  Standing  there,  in  my  costlj 
bridal  robe,  I  listened  to  the  revelation  that  blotted  out  all  sur 
and  moon  and  stars  from  my  life,  —  that  made  earth  a  disma) 
Bheol  and  the  future  a  howling  desolation,  —  a  dreary  wilder 
ness  of  woe.  In  my  agony  and  shame  I  clenched  my  hands 
EO  savagely,  one  upon  the  other,  that  my  diamond  betrothal- 
ring  cut  sharply  into  the  quivering  flesh,  and  blood-drops  oozed 
and  dripped  on  my  shir  ing  gossamer  veil  and  white  velvet  drens. 
In  a  moment,  iu  the  twin  IF  ling  of  an  eye,  my  whole  nature  vtur 


370  UNTIL  DEATH  US  D1  PART 

metamorphosed ;  and  my  coming  yeai<*  swept  in  panoramic 
vision  before  me,  beckoning  me  to  the  prompt  performance  of  * 
etern  and  humiliating  duty.  The  blood  in  my  veins  seemed  to 
hiss  and  bubble  like  a  seething  cauldron,  and  my  heart  fired 
^rith  a  ha  to  for  which  language  has  no  name,  no  gaib,  no  provi 
sion;  but  my  brain  kept  faithful  guard,  and  reason  calmly 
pointed  out  my  future  path.  When  Mr.  Carlyle  ended  hia 
tirade  against  me  and  his  curses  on  his  own  folly,  I  moved  for 
ward  into  the  arch  and  confronted  nay  dethroned  and  defiled 
gods.  If  the  tedious  years  of  the  primitive  patriarchs  could  bo 
allotted  to  me  they  would  never  suffice  to  efface  the  picture  that 
lingers  in  deep,  hot  lines  on  my  memory,  and  pursues  me  aa 
ruthlessly  as  the  avenging  cross  followed  and  tortured  the  mise 
rable  fugitive  in  Gustave  Dor6's  lLe  ,Tuif  errant?  or  the  Eye 
less  Christ  that  proved  a  haunting  Nemesis  to  the  Empresa 
Irene.  Edith's  lovely  face  was  on  his  bosom,  and  his  false, 
handsome  lips  were  pressed  to  hers.  So,  I  met  any  husband  and 
my  dearest  Mend,  one  hour  after  the  utterance  of  vows  that 
were  perhaps  still  echoing  in  the  courts  of  heaven.  Such  spec 
tacles  of  huauan  perfidy  are  the  real  Medusas  that  Gorgooiize 
trusting,  tender,  throbbing  hearts,  and  in  view  of  this  one  I 
laughed  aloud,  —  laughed  so  unnaturally  that  it  was  no  marvel  1 
was  called  a  maaiiac.  At  sight  of  any  desperate  white  face  Edith 
shrieked  and  fainted,  and  Maurice  blanched  and  stammered 
and  covered.  Without  a  word  of  comment  or  recrimination  I 
silentlv  passed  on  to  my  own  room,  where  Elsie  was  waiting  to 
clothe  me  in  my  travelling-suit.  In  three  hours  the  steamer 
woaH  sail,  and  I  had  little  leisure  for  resolution  and  execution. 
Sammoning  the  lawyer  to  whose  care  my  estate  was  entrusted, 
T  requested  him  to  call  Mr.  Wright  and  Mr.  Carlyle  into  the 
dressing-room  that  adjoined  my  apartment,  and  there  I  held  an 
sudience  with  the  three  who  were  most  interested  in  my  career. 
Briefly  I  explained  what  had  occurred,  and  announced  my  do- 
termination,  then  and  there,  to  separate  forever  from  the  man  who 
couM  never  be  more  than  my  nominal  husband.  I  told  them  I 
held  marriage,  next  to  the  Lord's  Supper,  the  holiest  sacramem 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  371 

iiifti  £uted  by  God,  but  mine  hud  bun  an.  infamous  mcckerj,  an 
unpardonable  sin  against  me,  and  an  insult  to  Jtlcavjn,  \vliow 
blessing  could  never  rest  upon  it.  Marriage,  without  sanctify 
ing  love,  was  unhallowed,  was  a  transgression  of  drine  law, 
and  a  crime  against  my  womanhood  which  neither  God  nor 
man  should  forgive.  Maurice  Carlylo  had  perjured  himself, 
—  had  never  loved  the  woman  who  went  with  him  to  the 
altar,  —  and  the  aifection  that  had  stirred  my  heart  one  hour 
before,  was  now  as  dead  as  the  Pharaohs  hidden  for  cen 
turies  under  the  pyramids.  We  two,  who  had  sworn  to  love, 
honor,  and  cherish  one  another,  now  hated  and  despised  each 
other  beyond  all  possibility  of  expression ;  and  I  considered 
it  a  heinous  ;;iii  to  perpetuate  the  awful  mockery,  to  cling  to 
the  letter  of  a  contract  that  bade  deiiance  to  every  impulse  of 
heart,  and  soul,  —  to  every  dictate  of  reason  and  decree  of  con 
science,  Wedded  lives  and  divided  hearts  I  believed  a  crime, 
and  while  I  admitted  that  man  could  not  put  asunder  those 
whom  God's  statutes  joined  together,  I  contended  that  Mr. 
Carlyle's  perjury  rendered  it  sinful  for  him  and  me  to  reside 
under  the  same  roof.  I  could  not  recognize  the  validity  of 
divorces,  for  human  hands  could  not  unlink  God's  fetters,  and 
man's  law  had  no  power  to  free  either  of  us  from  the  bonda 
we  had  voluntarily  assumed  in  the  invoked  presence  of  Jehovah. 
\  would  neither  accept  nor  permit  a  divorce,  for,  in  my  estima 
tion,  it  was  not  worth  the  paper  that  framed  it,  and  was  a  species 
of  sacrilegious  trilling;  but  I  would  never  live  as  the  wifo  of  &. 
i; "in  who  had  repeatedly  declared  he  had  not  an  atom  of  affec 
tion  for  nie.  U-nder  some  circumstances  JT  deemed  reparation  a 
uv;-;rj.fjn's  duty,  and  while  I  fully  comprehended  the  awful  im 
port  of  the  Arow  'Till  death  vs  do  part,  and  denied  that  human 
legislators  could  free  tis,  or  annul  the  marriage,  I  was  resolved, 
while  life  lasted,  to  consider  myself  a  duped,  an  unloved,  but  B 
lawful  wife,  —  a  woman  consecrated  by  solemn  oaths  that  lie 
human  actirn  could  cancel.  Since  money  was  the  bait,  i  waa 
willing  to  divide  my  fortune  as  the  price  of  a  quiet  separation; 
and  though  from  that  hour  I  intended  to  quit  his  presence 
forever,  and  regard  the  tie  that  linked  us  as  merely  nominal. 


372  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 


allow  him  a  liberal  income  until  I  attairjd  my  map* 
ity,  and  would  liquidate  all  his  present  debts.  To  your  imagi 
nation,  Dr.  Grey,  I  leave  the  details  of  what  ensued,  —  my  guard 
ian's  remorseful  grief,  my  lawyer's  wonder  and  expostulation^ 
Mr.  Carlyle's  oonfusion,  chagrin,  and  rage.  He  pleaded,  argued, 
threatened  ;  but  he  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  catch  and 
restrain  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  the  steady  sweep  of  Niagara 
as  hope  to  change  my  purpose.  My  terms  were  fixed,  and  1 
gave  him  permission  to  tell  the  world  what  he  chose  concerning 
this  strange  denouement  of  the  wedding  feast.  If  I  could  only  go 
away  at  once,  I  cared  not  what  the  public  thought  or  said;  and 
finally,  finding  me  no  longer  a  yielding  child,  but  a  desperate, 
stern,  relentless  woman,  my  terms  were  acceded  to.  Briefly  we 
discussed  the  legal  provisions,  and  I  signed  some  hastily  pre 
pared  papers  that  settled  a  bountiful  annuity  upon  Mr.  (Jarlyle. 
My  trunks  were  sent  to  the  steamer,  the  carriage  was  brought 
to  the  door,  and  in  the  presence  of  my  guardian  and  the  lawyer, 
I  announced  my  desire  never  to  look  again  upon  the  man  who 
had  so  completely  blighted  my  Life.  In  silence  I  laid  upon  the 
table  my  betrothal  and  wedding  rings,  and  the  sparkling  dia 
mond  cross  that  had  constituted  my  bridal  present.  No  word 
of  reproach  passed  my  lips,  for  women  love  when  they  upbraid, 
and  only  aching,  fond  hearts  furnish  stinging  rebukes  ;  but  I 
hated  and  scorned  the  author  of  my  ruin  too  utterly  to  indulge 
in  crimination  and  reproach.  So  we  two,  who  had  just  been 
pronounced  man  and  wife,  who  had  clasped  hands  and  linked 
hearts  and  lives  until  we  should  stumble  into  the  tomb,  —  we, 
Maurice  Carlyle  and  Evelyn,  his  bride,  four  hours  married, 
atcod  up  and  looked  at  each  other  for  the  last  time.  During 
the  interview  I  had  addressed  no  remark  to  him,  and  the  last 
words  I  ever  uttered  to  him.  were  contained  in  that  senfceuca 
fondly  whispered  when  he  bent  over  me  at  the  table,  '  Maurice, 
my  king.'  As  I  bade  adieu  to  my  guardian,  and  paused  bc-foio 
the  princely  figure  whom  the  world  called  my  husband,  our  eyea 
met,  and  he  flushed,  and  muttered,  'Yen  will  rue  your  rash 
ness.'  Silently  I  looked  on  the  handsome  features  that  had  so 
suddenly  grown  loathsome  to  me,  and  he  snatched  my  wedding 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PARJ\  373 

ring  from  the  table  and  held  it  appealingly  towarurf  ine,  saying 
remorsefully,  'Evelyn,  my  wife,  forgive  your  wretched  hus- 
ittuid  !  '  Without  a  word,  or  a  touch  of  Ids  outsti-etched  hind?, 
1  turned  and  wont  down  to  the  carriage,  where  my  faithful 
iiursr  sat  weeping  and  waiting.  One  hour  later,  the  vessel 
swung  from  her  moorings,  arid  Elsie  and  1  were  soon  at  *ea»  A 
ijirl  only  sixteen,  four  hours  married,  separated  fcrsver  fnouj 
husband  and  friends,  —  without  hope  or  faith  in  either  human  01 
heavenly  things, — hating,  with  most  intolerable  intensity,  the 
man  whose  name  she  had  just  assumed,  and  to  whom  she  felt 
indissolubly  bound,  in  accordance  with  the  vow  '/So  long  as  yt 
Loth  s!,all  live:  " 

Out  of  the  tossing,  moaning  sea,  the  moon  had  risen  slowly, 
breaking  through  a  rent  scarf  of  cloud  that  barred  her  solemn, 
white  disc,  and  silvering  the  foam  of  the  racing  waves  thai 
seemed  to  reflect  the  glittering  fringe  of  the  scudding  vapor  in 
the  chill  vault  above  them.  There  was  no  mellow  radiance,  no 
golden  lustre  such  as  southern  moons  are  wont  to  shed,  but  a 
weird,  fitful  glitter  on  sea  and  land,  that  now  shone  with  stiu't 
ling  vividness,  and  anon  waned,  until  sombre  shadows  seemed 
stalking  in  spectral  ranks  from  some  distant,  gloomy  ocean  lair. 
It  was  one  of  those  melancholy  nights  when  the  supernatural 
realm  threatened  to  impinge  upon  the  physical,  that  shuddered 
and  shrank  from  the  contact,  —  when  the  atmosphere  gave  vague 
hints  of  ghostly  denizens,  and  every  passing  breeze  seemed  ladwi 
with  sepulchral  da*nps  and  vibrating  with  sepulchral  sounds. 

Mrs.  Gerome  sat  erect,  with  her  hands  resting  en  the  balus 
trade,  and  under  that  mysteriously  white  moon  her  pearl-pale 
{ace  looked  as  hopelessly  cold  and  rigid  as  any  Persepolitan 
sphinx,  that  nightly  fronts  the  immemorial  stars  which  watch 
ahe  ruined  tombs  of  Chilminar. 

Raising  her  fingers  to  her  forehead,  she  lifted  and  shook  a 
hand  of  the  shining  white  hair,  and  resumed  her  narration,  h» 
tLe  same  steady,  passionless  tone. 

"  These  gray  locks  were  the  fruit  of  that  bridal  day,  for,  oo 
iae  afternoon  that  we  sailed,  I  was  taken  very  ill  with  what  waa 
called  congestion  of  the  brain,  —  was  unconscious  througho'i* 
§2 


374  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAKT. 

the  voyage,  and  when  we  reached  Liverpool,  my  hair,  once  M 
black  and  glossy,  was  as  you  see  it  now.  Ah  !  how  often,  sinc« 
that  time,  have  I  heard  poor  Elsie  mourning  over  my  mother'* 
ictimely  death,  and  quoting  that  ancient  siiperstition,  'You 
•<LouId  never  wean  a  child  while  trees  are  in  blossom  ;  otherwisa 
It  will  have  gray  hair.'  Mr.  Wright  was  so  prostrated  by  grief 
at  what  had  occurred,  that  he  survived  my  departure  only  a  few 
weeks;  and  at  his  death,  Mr.  Carlyle  attempted  to  seize  and 
control  my  estate.  Urging  the  plea  of  my  minority,  he  insisted 
upon  assuming  the  charge  of  my  property,  and  in  order  to  con 
summate  his  avaricious  designs,  and  screen  his  name  from  op- 
jrobrium,  he  told  the  world  that  I  was  hopelessly  insane;  and 
that  the  discovery  of  this  fact,  one  hour  after  his  marriage,  had 
induced  him  to  send  me  abroad  under  the  care  of  a  faithful  and 
judicious  nurse.  To  give  plausibility  to  this  statement,  a  para 
graph  was  inserted  in  the  New  York  papers  announcing  that  I 
was  a  raving  maniac  and  an  inmate  of  an  English  asylum  for 
lunatics.  Mr.  Clayton,  my  lawyer,  was  the  sole  surviving 
witness  of  my  final  interview,  and  of  its  financial  provisions  j 
and,  had  he  yielded  to  bribes  and  threats  which  were  unsparingly 
offered,  God  only  knows  what  would  have  been  my  fate,  since 
the  tender  mercies  of  my  husband  destined  me  to  the  cheerful 
and  attractive  precincts  of  a  rnad-ho\ise.  To  Mr.  Clayton's 
etern  integrity  and  brave  defence,  I  am  indebted  for  the  preser 
vation  of  my  fortune  and  the  defeat  of  a,  daring  and  iniquitous 
scheme  to  arrest  me  in  London  and  commit  me  to  the  custody 
of  an  asylum-warden.  Fortunately  for  me,  he  lived  long  enough 
to  transfer  to  my  own  guardianship,  when  I  attained  my  major 
ity,  the  estate  which  had  cost  me  every  earthly  hope.  Six 
months  after  my  departure  from  America  I  bade  farewell  to 
Europe,  and  plunged  into  the  most  remote  and  unfreqiiento-] 
portions  of  the  East,  where  I  wisl  ed  to  remain  unknown  and 
unnoticed.  In  a  half-defiant  anu  half-superstitious  mood,  I 
had  assumed  the  talisrnanic  and  mystical  name  of  Agla  Gerome. 
fldth  the  faint  hope  that  it  might  shield  me  from  the  intrigues 
Mid  persecutions  wl  ich  I  felt  assured  would  always  dog  the 
steps  of  Evelyn  Carlyle.  Having  appointed  a  cautious  am? 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  375 

confidential  agent  in  New  York  and  Paris,  I  destroyed  all  trace* 
of  my  whereabouts,  and  became  as  utterly  lost  to  the  world  &A 
though  the  portals  of  the  grave  had  closed  upon  me.  Withoui 
friends,  and  accompanied  only  by  Elsie  and  her  son  Robert,  1 
Lived  year  after  year  in  wandering  through,  strange  lands.  Becks 
%'int  pictures  were  my  solace,  and  to  s-f-i-*u<jle  tine  J  first  devotod 
Qjyoelf  to  drawing  and  painting.  Alter  a  while  1  caine  back 
to  Home,  and  frequented  the  studios  and  galleries,  perfecting 
dj-self  in  the  mechanical  department  of  Art.  But  fear  of 
encountering  some  familiar  face  drove  me  from  the  Eternal 
City,  and  a  sudden  whim  took  me  to  Madeira,  where  I  spent 
tlio  only  portion  of  my  life  to  which  I  recur  with,  any  degree 
of  satisfaction.  There,  surrounded  by  magnificent  scenery, 
and  safe  from  intrusion,  I  intended  to  drag  out  the  remainder 
of  my  dreary  years;  but  poor  Elsie  grew  so  restless,  so  home 
sick,  so  impatient  to  visit  the  graves  of  her  household  band, 
that  I  finally  allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded  into  returning 
to  my  native  laud.  Robert  preceded  us,  and  purchased  this 
secluded  spot,  which  I  had  stipulated  must  be  upon  the  sea 
shore  and  secure  from  all  intrusion.  Avoiding  New  York,  I 
came  reluctantly  to  Boston,  thence  to  '  Solitudp,'  without 
seeing  or  hearing  of  any  whom  I  had  once  known.  When  I 
was  twenty-one,  I  transferred  to  Mr.  Carlyle  the  sum  of  thirty 
thousand  dollars,  as  a  final  settlement;  but  my  agent  scrupu 
lously  obeyed  my  instructions,  and  no  human  being,  save  him 
self,  is  aware  of  my  place  of  residence  or  the  name  under  which 
I  am  sheltered.  Strenuous  efforts  have  beer,  made  by  Mr. 
'  -irlyle  to  unearth  his  wretched  dupe,  but  feince  1  left  England, 
33arly  eight  years  ago,  he  has  been  unable  to  discover  any  trace 
of  my  location.  From  time  to  time  I  received  bills,  contracted 
by  him,  and  paid  by  my  lawyer  after  I  left  New  York ;  am. 
in  my  escritoire  are  two  accounts  of  jewellers,  where  I  fine 
oh  urged  the  flashing  ring  and  costly  diamond  cross,  which  1 
refused  to  retain  but  for  which  1  paid,  after  my  separation. 
Prone  to  dissipation,  Mr.  Carlyle  pVmged  into  excesses  that 
would  have  squandered  royal  portions,  and  my  agent  writes 
tfu»t  liis  eagerness  to  ascertain  where  I  am  residing  has  recently 


376  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  P&RT. 

increased,  in  consequence  of  his  pecuniary  necessities,  although 
the  terms  of  our  separation  deprive  him  of  every  shadow  of 
claim  upon  me  or  ray  purse.  Such,  Dr.  Grey,  is  the  shattered 
idol  of  my  girlish  adoration,  —  such  the  divinity  of  dusb  upon 
which  1  spent  the  treasures  of  my  love  and  trust.  Gray-hair\*)c 
gray-hearted,  mocked,  and  maddened  in  the  d*wn  of  my  cos»« 
fiding  womanhood,  nominally  a  wife,  but  in  reality  a  namelea* 
waif,  shut  out  from  happiness,  and  pitied  as  a  maniac,  —  stich, 
is  that  most  desolate  and  isolated  woman,  whom,  as  Agla 
Gerome,  you  have  known  as  the  mistress  of  this  lonely  place. 
As  for  my  name,  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  in  the  last  great 
gathering  in  the  court  of  Heaven,  my  own  mother  will  know 
what  to  call  her  unbaptized  child,  —  whether  the  sins  charged 
against  me  will  be  read  out  as  those  of  Vashti,  or  Evelyn,  or 
Agla.  Elsie  persistently  clung  to  Vashti,  and  verily  there 
eeems  a  grim  fitness  in  her  selection,  —  a  dismal  analogy  between 
my  blasted  life  and  that  of  the  discrowned  Persian  Queen. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  if  I  miss  a  name  I  surely  shall  not  miss 
the  equity  that  man  denies  me.  6*So  lony  as  ye  both  sJtall  live.'' 
When  I  look  out  in  spring-time,  over  the  blossoming  earth, 
daisies,  and  violets,  and  primroses  range  themselves  into  lines 
that  spell  out  these  hated  words  of  an  sver-echoing  vow,  and 
if,  in  midnight  hours,  I  raise  niy  weary  eyes,  the  sleepless  stars 
revengefully  group  themselves,  and  flash  back  to  me,  in  burning 
characters,  'Till  death  us  do  part.''  Up  yonder,  behind  sun, 
and  planet,  and  nebulae,  I  shall  look  God  in  the  face,  and 
pointing  to  my  withered  heart  and  blighted  life,  can  say  truly, 
'At  least  I  kept  the  ruins  free  from  perjury;  there,  at  your 
fset,  is  the  oath  unsullied,  that  I  called  you  to  accept  on  the 
awful  day  wli^n  I  knelt  at  your  altar.'  Love,  honor,  and 
obedience,  Maurice  Carlyle's  unworthiiiess  rendered  impossible ; 
but  the  vow  which  consecrated  and  set  me  apart,  which  forbade 
the  thought  that  other  men  might  offer  homage  and  affection, 
or  even  ordinary  tributes  of  admiration,  I  have  kept  sacredly 
and  faithfully.  I  might  have  plunged  into  the  whirlpool  of 
fashionable  life,  and  found  temporary  oblivion  of  my  humiliation 
Mid  disappointment;  but  from  such  a  career  my  whole 


CNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  371 

revolted,  and  in  seclusion  I  have  dragged  out  a  dreary  series  of 
ytvars  that  can  scarcely  be  termed  life.  Recently  I  have  been 
honored  by  several  proposals  for  a  divorce,  on  condition  of  an 
additional  settlement  of  money  upon  my  eminently  ciiivalrio 
and  devoted  husband ;  but  my  invariable  reply  has  been,  hit/man 
Isgtdalwn  is  impotent  to  cancel  the  statutes  of  AlmujUty  <5W, 
vh-ich  dadare  that  only  death  can  Jree  what  Jehovah  h&& 
joined  together,  and  the  legal  provisions  of  man  crumble  and 
shrivel  before  the  divine  command,  'For  the  woman  which  liaih 
an  husband  is  bound  by  the  law  to  her  husband  so  long  as  ItA 
livethS  With  what  impatience,  what  ceaseless  yearning,  I  await 
the  cold  touch  of  that  deliverer  who  alone  can  sever  my  galling, 
detested  fetters,  none  but  the  God  above  us  can  understand 
and  realize.  The  eagerness  with  which  1  once  anticipated 
my  bridal  hour  does  iiofc  approximate  the  intensity  of  my  long 
ing  for  the  day  of  my  death.  O  merciful  God  !  surely,  surely, 
I  have  beeii  sufficiently  tortured,  and  the  tardy  release  can  not 
t>e  f;i.r  distant." 

She  raised  her  face  skyward,  as  if  invoking  Divine  aid,  but 
her  waii  lips  were  voiceless  ;  and  only  the  song  of  the  surf  min 
gled  with  the  whisper  of  trembling  poplars,  whose  fading  leaves 
gleamed  ghostly  and  chill  under  the  silver  sheen  of  that  broad 
white  moon. 

"There  heavily,  across  the  troubled  night, 
A  warning1  comet  trails  her  hideous  hair, 
Ami  underneath,  the  wroth  sea- waves  are  white." 

During  the  hour  in  which  Dr.  Grey  listened  to  the  recital  jf 
titto  woman's  hapless  career,  she  became  as  utterly  (.lead  to  him 
at1  vhoiigh  shroud  and  sepulchre  had  already  claimed  her;  and 
fcbsm  she  ceased  speaking,  he  looked  as  sorrowfully  down  at/  her 
MU-,  frozen  face,  as  if  the  cof Jin-lid  were  shutting  it  forever 
Som  his  -view. 

Henceforth  she  was  as  sacred  in  his  :-ad  eyes  as  some  beloved 

corpse,  and  bowing  his  head  upon  his  hands,  lie  prayed  long  but 

idlently  that  God  would  strengthen  him  for  the  duties  of  a  deso 

b&t/e  future,  —  would  sanctify   this  grievous  disappointment  te 

32* 


878  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

his  eternal  welfare,  and  grant  him  power  to  lead  heavenward 
the  heart  of  the  only  woman  whom  he  had  ever  desired  to 
call  his  own. 

Putting  awav  the  beautiful  dreams  wherein  this  regal  form 
kad  moved  to  and  fro  as  crown  and  queen  of  his  home  an. I 
heart,  ho  calmly  resigned  the  cherished  scheme  that  linked  this 
woman's  life  with  his ;  and  felt  that  lie  would  gladly  barter  uL 
Ids  earthly  hopes  for  the  assurance,  that,  throughout  eternity^  he 
might  be  allowed  the  companionship  which  time  denied  hira. 

Mrs.  Gerome  rose,  and  folding  her  mantle  around  her,  said 
proudly,  — 

"  Married  life,  unhallowed  by  love,  is  more  acceptable  in  your 
righteous  eyes  than  my  isolated  existence  ;  and  you  have  passed 
sentence  against  me.  So  be  it.  Strange  code  of  morality  you 
Christians  hug  to  your  hearts,  squeezing  the  form  that  holds  no 
spirit;  but  some  day  I  shall  be  acquitted  by  that  incorruptible 
tribunal  where  God  alone  has  the  right  to  judge  us.  Till  then, 
farewell." 

She  turned  to  leave  the  terrace,  but  he  arrested  the  movement, 
and  placed  himself  before  her. 

"  You  misinterpret  my  silence,  if  you  suppose  it  was  employed 
in  censuring  your  course.  Pondering  all  that  you  have  recapitu 
lated,  I  can  conjecture  no  line  of  conduct  towards  your  husband 
less  deplorable  than  that  which  you  have  pursued ;  and  I  honor 
the  stern  honesty  and  integrity  of  purpose  from  which  you  have 
never  swerved.  Mrs.  Garlyle,  I  acquit  you  of  all  guilt,  save  that 
of  impious  defiance,  of  rebellion  against  your  God,  whose  grace 
could  sweeten  even  the  bitter  dregs  of  the  cup  you  have  well 
aigh  drained." 

A  t  the  sound  of  'xer  <ttame,  so  long  unutteced,  she  winced  and 
writhed  as  if  some  sensitive  nerve  had  been  suddenly  pierced 
and  torn ;  but  without  heeding  her  emotion,  Dr.  Grey  eon- 
tinued,  — 

"  If  your  earthly  lot  has  been  stinted  of  sunshine,  can  you  not 
bear  a  little  temporary  gloom,  —  must  you  needs  people  it  with 
adverse  •witnesses,  must  you  thicken  the  darkness  with  iinpre- 
su,iou&  ?  You  forget  that  life  is  only  the  race-course,  nol 


UNTIL  DEATH  UU  DO  t  ART.  S7£ 

:fio  goal,  —  that  this  world  is  for  human  souls  what  the  plain 
of  I>ura  proved  for  the  Hebrew  trio  who  braved  its  flamea 
Suppose  you  are  lonely  aud  bereft  of  the  love  that  mighi 
have  cheered  you  ?  Was  not  Christ  far  more  isolated  and  love 
less?  In  His  fearful  ordeal  He  was  forsaken  by  God, — but 
to  you  remains  the  everlasting  promise,  'I  will  not  leave  you 
comfortless  ;  I  will  come  to  you.'  O  Avretched  woman !  gi  ve 
your  aching  heart  to  Him  who  emptied  it  of  earthly  idols  in 
order  to  fit  it  up  for  His  own  temple. 

'  la  God  less  G  od,  that  thou  art  left  undone  V 
Rise,  worship,  bless  Him,  in  this  sackcloth  gpun, 
As  in  that  purple. '  " 

Silently  she  listened,  looking  steadily  up  at  his  noble  face, 
vhere  intense  mental  anguish  had  left  \mwonted  pallor,  and 
printed  new  ciphers  on  brow  and  lips  ;  aud  when  his  adjuration 
ended,  she  put  out  her  hand. 

"  That  you  do  not  condemn  me  is  the  most  precious  consola 
tion  you  could  oifer,  for  your  good  opinion  is  worth  much  to 
my  proud,  sensitive  soul.  If  all  men  were  like  you  there  would 
be  no  mutilated,  ruined  lives,  such  ao  mine,  —  no  nominal 
wives  roaming  up  and  down  the  world  in  search  of  an  obscure 
corner  wherein  to  hide  dishonored  heads  and  crushed  hearts. 
Cod  grant  you  some  day  a  wire  worthy  of  the  noblest  man  it 
has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  meet.  Ccod-by." 

He  did  not  accept  the  offered  hand,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
RS  if  struggling  to  master  some  impulse  to  which  he  could  not 
yield.  Perhaps  he  dared  not  trust  the  touch  of  those  gleaming, 
sleudei  fingers  that  had  clasped  a  living  husband's;  or  perchance 
lie  was  rio  absorbed  by  painful  thoughts  that  he  failed  to  observe 
thc-m. 

Laying    his    palm    softly  on    her    snowy  head,  he   said    ten- 

"  .Mrs.  Carlyle,  yoxi  have  innocently,  and  I  believe  unccn- 
•icioubly,  caused  me  the  keenest  suffering  I  have  ever  endured  : 
and  I  feel  assured  you  will  not  withhold  the  only  reparation 
which  you  could  render,  or  I  accept.  Will  you  promise  to 


380  UNTIL  DEATH  DS  DO 

consecrate  the  remainder  of  your  life  to  the  service  of  Christ  ? 
Will  you  humble  your  defiant'soul,  aud  so  spend  yoiir  future, 
that  when  this  brief  earthly  pilgrimage  ends  you  can  puss  joy 
fully  to  the  city  of  llest  ?  Girdeu  with  this  hope,  I  can  bravn 
all  trials,  —  can  be  content  to  look  upon  your  face  no  more  ia 
this  world,  —  can  patiently  wait  for  a  reunion  in  that  Eternal 
Home  where  they  which  shall  be  accounted  worthy  to  obtain 
that  world,  and  the  resurrection  from  the  dead,  neither  inarrj? 
nor  are  given  in  marriage." 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Grey,  if  it  were  possible  !  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  bowed  her  chin  upon  them,  awed 
by  his  tones,  and  unable  to  meet  ais  grave,  pleading  eyes. 

"  Faith  and  prayer  are  the  talismans  that  render  all  things 
possible  to  an  earnest  Christian ;  and  it  has  been  truly  said 
We  mount  to  heaven  mostly  on  the  ruins  of  our  cherished 
schemes,  finding  our  failures  were  successes.'  liecollect, — 

'  There  is  a  pleasure  which  is  born  of  pain : 
The  grave  of  all  things  hath  its  violet,' 

and  do  not  indulge  a  corroding  bitterness  that  has  almost  de 
stroyed  the  nobler  elements  of  your  nature.  I  will  exact  no 
promise,  but  when  I  am  gone,  do  not  forget  the  request  that  my 
soul  makes  of  yours.  May  God  point  out  your  work  and  help 
you  to  perform  it  faithfully.  May  His  hand  guide  and  uphold, 
and  His  merciful  arms  enfold  you,  now  and  forever,  is  and 
ehall  be  iny  prayer." 

For  a  moment  his  hand  lingered  as  if  in  benediction  upou 
the  drooping  gray  head,  then  he  quietly  turned  and  walked 
*way,  knowing  full  well  that  he  was  bidding  adieu  to  the  most 
precious  of  all  earthly  objects,  —  that  he  too  was  shattering 
j.  lovely  "graven  image,"  before  which  his  heart  had  fondly 
bowed. 

As  the  sound  of  his  firm  step  died  away,  the  lonely  woman 
Lifted  her  face  and  looked  after  the  form,  vanishing  in  thfl 
gloom  of  the  overarching  trees.  When  he  had  disappeared, 
and  she  turned  seaward,  where  the  moon,  as  if  inviting  her 
to  heeven,  had  laid  a  broad  shining  band  of  beaten  silvei 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  381 

from  wave  to  kky,  —  the  miserable  wife  raised  her  hand? 
Lngly,  and  made  a  new  covenant  with  her  pitying  Go»l 

"  Wherefore  thy  Life 
Shall  purify  itself,  and  heal  itself, 
In  the  long  toil  of  love  made  meek  by  tears." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

)N,  you  are  not  conscious  of  the  extent  of  ycur 
which  has  already  excited  comment  in 
our  limited  circle  of  acquaintances." 

"  Indeed  !  The  members  of  '  our  limited  circle  of  acquaint 
ances '  are  heartily  welcome  to  whatever  edification  or  amuse 
ment  they  may  be  able  to  derive  from,  the  discussion  of  my  indi 
vidual  affairs,  or  the  analysis  of  my  peculiar  tastes.  You 
forget,  ray  dear  Constance,  that  to  devour  and  in  turn  be 
devoured  is  an  inexorable  law  of  this  world ;  and  if  my  eccen 
tricities  furnish  a  ragout  for  omnivorous  society,  I  should  be 
philanthropically  glad  that  tittle-tattledom  owes  me  thanks." 

The  speaker  did  not  lay  aside  the  newspaper  that  partially 
concealed  his  countenance ;  and  when  he  ceased  speaking,  his 
eyes  reverted  to  the  statistical  table  of  Egyptian  and  Algerine 
cotton,  which  for  some  moments  he  had  been  attentively 
examining. 

"  My  dear  brother,  you  are  spasmodically  and  provokingly 
philosophical  !  Pray  do  me  the  honor  to  discard  that  stupid 
Times,  which  you  pore  over  as  if  it  were  the  last  sensation 
novel,  and  be  so  courteous  as  to  look  at  nie  while  you  are 
balking,"  replied  the  invalid  sister,  beating  a  tattoo  on  the  bide 
of  her  couch. 

"  I  believe  I  have  nothing  to  communicate  j  ust  now,"  "*as 
the  quiet  and  unsatisfactory  answer,  as  he  drew  a  pencil  irom 
bis  pocket  and  made  some  numeral  annotations  on  the  margin 
of  the  statistics. 


S82  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"  Surely,  Merton,  you  are  not  angry  with  your  poor  Con 
stance  ?  " 

Merton  Miiige  lowered  his  paper,  restored  the  pencil  to  hii 
veoL  pocket,  and  wheeling  his  chair  forward,  brought  himself 
closer  to  the  couch. 

"I  wish  you  were  as  far  removed  from  fever  as  T  certain!) 
am  from  auger.  Your  eyes  are  too  bright,  my  pretty  one." 

He  put  his  fingers  on  her  pulse,  and  when  he  removed  thein. 
compressed  his  lips  to  stifle  a  sigh. 

"  Why  will  you  so  persistently  evade  me  ?  —  why  will  you 
always  change  the  subject  when  I  allude  to  that  young  lady?  " 

"  Because,  when  a  man  attains  the  sober  and  discreet  age  of 
forty  years,  he  naturally  and  logically  thinks  he  has  earned, 
and  is  entitled  to,  an  exemption  from  the  petty  teasing  to  which 
sophomores  and  sentimentalists  are  subjected.  While  I  grate 
fully  appreciate  the  compliment  implied  in  your  forgetfulness. 
permit  me  to  remind  you  of  the  disagreeable  fact  thai.  I  am  nr 
longer  a  boy." 

"  You  lose  sight  of  that  same  ugly  and  ill-mannered  fact,  mud 
more  frequently  than  I  am  in  danger  of  doing;  and  I  afFec 
tionately  suggest  that  you  stimulate  your  own  torpid  memory 
Ah,  brother !  why  will  you  not  be  frank,  and  confide  in  me  \ 
Women  are  not  easily  hoodwinked,  except  by  their  lovers, — 
and  }  ou  can  not  deceive  me  in  this  matter." 

"  What  pleasure  do  you  suppose  it  would  afford  me  to  prac 
tice  deceit  of  any  kind  towards  my  only  sister '?  To  what  class 
of  motives  could  you  credit  such  conduct  ?  " 

"I  think  you  shrink  from  acknowledging  your  real  feelings, 
oecanse  you  very  well  know  that  I  could  never  sanction  or  con 
sent  to  them." 

Mr.  Minge  arched  his  heavy  brows,  and  the  sternly  draTro 
lines  of  his  large  mouth  relaxed,  and  threatened  to  run  into 
curves  that  bebng  to  the  ludicrous,  as  he  turned  his  twinkling 
eyes  upon  his  sister's  face. 

"'  What  extraordinary  hallucinations  attack  even  sage,  sedate, 
raiddle-agedmen  ?  Ten  minutes  ago  I  would  Lave  sworn  J  was 
your  guardian ;  whereas,  it  seems  your  apron-strings  are  the 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  383 

reins  that  rule  me.  Don't  pout,  :ny  Czarina,  if  I  den^nd  your 
credentials  before  I  bow  submissively  to  your  ulcase." 

"Irony  is  not  your  forte;  and,  Merton,  I  beg  you  to  recol 
lect  that  T  detest  bantering,  —  it  is  so  excessively  ungentcel 
No  wonder  you  look  nervous  and  ashamed,  after  your  recent 
rery  surprising  manifestation  of — well,  I  might  as  well  'my 
•* hat  I  mean  — of  mauvais  gout" 

Constance  Minge  impatiently  threw  off  the  light  worsted 
rmawl  that  rested  on  her  shoulders,  and  propped  her  cheek  on 
her  jewelled  hand. 

Her  brother's  countenance  clouded,  and  his  lips  hardened, 
but  after  one  keen  look  at  her  flushed  features,  he  once  more 
resumed  the  perusal  of  the  paper.  Some  moments  elapsed,  and 
his  sister  sobbed,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  the  sound. 

"  Merton,  I  never  expected  you  would  treat  RIG  so  cruelly." 

"  Make  out  your  charges  in  detail,  and  vviien  you  are  sure  you 
have  included  all  the  petty  deeds  of  tyranny  as  well  as  the 
heinous  acts  of  brutality,  I  will  examine  the.  indictment,  and 
hear  myself  arraigned.  Shall  I  bricg  you  some  legal  cap,  and 
loan  you  my  pencil  ?  " 

For  live  minutes  she  hold  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and 
then  Mr.  Minge  rose  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"You  will  not  be  so  unkind  as  to  leave  me  again  this  after 
noon,  and  spend  your  time  with  that — 

"Constance,  you  transcend  your  privileges,  and  this  is  a  most 
apropos  and  convenient  occasion  to  remind  you  that  presumj)- 
tion  is  one  fault  I  lind  it  particularly  difficult  to  forgive.  Since 
my  forbearance  only  invites  aggression,  let  me  here  say  (as  an 
economy  of  trouble),  that  you  are  rashly  invading  a  realm  where 
I  permit  none  to  enter,  much  less  to  dictate,  i  hope  you  under 
stand  me." 

"I  knew  it,  — -I  felt  it  !  1  dreaded  that  artful  girl  would 
•r.-'»l:e  mischief  between  us,  —  would  alienate  the  only  heart  I  had 
.f,?t  to  care  for  me.  Oh,  how  1  wish  she  had  been  forty  fathoms 
Udder  the  sea  before  you  ever  saw  her  !  —  before  you  ceased  to 
love  me !" 

A.  flood  of  tears  emphasized  the  sentence,  wh?"h  seemed  losj 


384  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

upon  Mi:  Minge,  as  he  lighted  a  cigar,  tried  its  flavor,  tht«T» 
it  away,  and  puffed  the  smoke  from  a  second. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  can't  smoke  and  compose  your  nerves,  as  1 
Km  preparing  to  do, — though  I  confess  I  prefer  to  kiss  your 
iips  untainted  by  such  odors.  Shall  I  ?  " 

He  held  his  cigar  aside  to  prevent  the  wind  from  wafting  th« 
em  i ing  column  of  smoke  in  her  face,  and  bent  his  head  close  to 
h«r» ;  but  she  put  up  her  hand  to  prevent  the  caress,  and 
Averted  her  face. 

"  Aa  you  like.  But  mark  you,  Constance,  the  next  time  our 
lips  touch,  you  will  find  yourself  in  the  nomijuative  case,  while 
1  meekly  fill  an  objective  position.  You  are  a  poor,  wilful, 
spoiled  child,  and  I  must  begin  to  undo  my  own  ruinous  work," 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  walked  off,  followed  by  a  pretty 
Italian  mouse-colored  greyhound,  whose  silver  bell  tinkled  as 
she  ran  down  the  steps. 

"  Merton,  come  back  !  Do  not  leave  me  here  alone,  or  I 
shall  die.  Brother  !  —  " 

On  strode  the  stalwart  figure,  looking  neither  to  right  nor 
left,  and  behind  him  trailed  the  vaporous  aroma  of  the  fine 
cigar.  Raising  herself  on  her  couch,  the  invalid  elevated  her 
voice,  and  exclaimed,  — 

"Please,  dear  Mertoii,  come  back, — at  least  long  enough  to 
let  me  kiss  you.  Please,  brother !  " 

He  paused,  —  wavered,  —  drew  geometrical  figures  on  the 
ground  with  the  tip  of  his  boot,  and  finally  took  off  his  hat, 
turned  and  bowed,  saying, — 

"  Show  some  flag  of  truce,  if  you  really  want  me  to  return." 

She   raised   her   hands   and   gracefully    tossed   him   several 


Slowly  Mr.  Minge  retraced  his  steps,  and,  as  he  sat  down 
once  more  close  to  his  sister  and  pushed  back  his  ha*,  she  saw 
that  ho  intended  her  to  realize  that  her  reign  was  at  an  end ; 
and  she  trembled  and  turned  pale  at  the  expression  with  which 
be  regarded  her. 

"Mertcn,  don't  you  know  —  don't  you  belieye —  that  I  lore 
ymi  above  everything  else  ?  " 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  385 

Slie  Bat  erect,  and  stole  one  arm  around  the  neck  that  did 
not  bend  toward  her,  as  was  its  habit. 

"  If  yen  really  loved  me,  yoti  would  desire  to  see  me  happy." 

"  I  do  desire  it,  earnestly  and  sincerely ;  and  there  is  no  sacri 
fice  I  would  not  make  to  see  you  really  happy." 

"  Provided  I  selected  your  mode  of  obtaining  the  boon,  and 
"moreover  consulted  your  caprices  and  antipathies ;  otherwise, 
&\y  happiness  would  annoy  and  insult  you." 

"Don't  scold,  —  kiss  m«."  She  put  up  her  lips,  but  he  did 
not  respond  to  the  motion,  and  she  pettishly  drew  liis  head 
down  and  kissed  liim  several  times.  "  How  obstinate  you  have 
grown!  —  how  harsh  towards  me!  It  is  all  the  result  of 
that—" 

She  bit  3jer  lip,  and  her  brother  frowned. 

"  Take  care  !  You  seem  continually  disposed  to  stumble  very 
awkwardly  into  forbidden  realms." 

The  petted  invalid  nestled  her  pretty  head  on  his  bosom,  and 
patted  his  cheek  with  one  hot  hand. 

"  Brother,  Kate  Sutherland  was  here  this  morning,  and  left 
• — besides  numerous  kind  messages  for  you  —  a  three-cornered 
note  that  I  ordered  Adele  to  place  in  your  dressing-case,  where 
I  felt  sure  you  would  see  it." 

"Yes,  I  saw  it." 

"  An  invitation  to  ascend  Monte  Pellegrini  ?  " 

"  Which  I  respectfully  decline." 

"  O  Merton  !     Why  not  go  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  I  never  premeditateuJy,  and  with  tnati&o 
prepense,  bore  myself  by  joining  parties  composed  of  persons 
ir  whom  I  have  not  an  atom  of  interest." 

"  But  Kate  is  so  lovely  ?  " 

"  Not  to  me." 

('  Nonsense !  She  was  the  handsomest  young  girl  in  Parifi, 
&rtd  was  the  acknowledged  belle  of  the  season." 

"  Possibly.  Henna-dyed  nails  are  considered  irresistible  in 
Turkey,  but  your  opalescent  ones  attract  me  infinitely  more 
pleasantly  " 

"  Pray  what  have  iny  nails  to  do  with  Kate's  beauty  ?  ** 
88 


386  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART. 

"  Nothing  destructive,  I  hope,  —  as  I  am  disposed  to  '.liink  sha 
cas  little  to  spare." 

"  Good  heavens  !  You  siirely  would  not  insinuate  that  you 
believe  or  consider,  —  or  would  admit,  that  she  is  net  vast  1  j 
waperior  to  —  to  —  there,  Beauty,  down!  She  is  actually 
Jining  on  the  fringe  of  my  pelerine  !  " 

To  cover  her  confusion,  Constance  addressed  herself  to  t-h 
dimir.ntive  dog  at  her  feet,  and  taking  her  flushed  face  in  h>a 
hands,  the  brother  looked  steadily  down,  and  answered, — 

"  I  never  insinuate.  It  impresses  me  as  a  cowardly  and  c  n- 
temptible  bit  of  plebeian  practice  that  found  favor  after  the 
royal  purple  was  trailed  in  agrarian  democratic  dust ;  and  lest 
you  should  unjustly  impute  abhorred  innuendoes  to  me,  ]  will 
say  perspicuously,  that  the  most  attractive  and  beautiful 
woman  I  have  ever  seen  is  not  your  fair  friend  Miss  Suther 
land,  nor  any  other  darling  of  diamond  and  satin  sheen,  but  a 
young  lady  whom  I  admire  beyond  expression,  Miss  Salome 
Owen." 

An  angry  flush  burned  on  the  invalid's  face,  and  her  mouth 
curled  scornfully. 

"  She  is  rather  handsome  sometimes,  —  so  are  gypsies  and 
other  waifs;  but  it  is  a  wild  sort  of  beauty,  —  if  beauty  you 
persist  in  terming  it;  and  low  birth  and  blood  are  visible  in 
everything  that  appertains  to  her.  I  never  expected  to  see  my 
brother  condescend  to  the  level  of  opera-singers,  and  I  am 
astonished  at  your  infatuation.  There  !  you  need  not  expect  to 
blast  me  with  that  fiery  look,  and  besides,  you  know  you  men 
tioned  her  name,  which  I  had  scrupulously  avoided.  I  confess 
I  am  very  proud  of  my  family,  and  of  you,  its  sole  male  repre 
sentative,  and  I  wish  it  preserved  from  all  taint." 

"  Untainted  it  shall  remain,  while  a  drop  of  the  blood  throba 
in  my  veins,  and  I,  who  am  jealous  of  my  honor,  have  carefully 
pondered  the  matter,  and  maturely  decided  that  he  who  entrusts 
his  happiness  to  Salome  Owen  will  be  indeed  an  enviable  man, 
and  pardonably  proud  of  his  prize.  Once  I  bartered  myself 
away  at  the  altar,  and  gave  my  name  and  hand  for  wealth, 
for  aristocratic  antecedents,  for  fashionable  status,  and  five 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  387 

^ears  of  purgatorial  misery  was  the  richly  merited  r.snalty  foi 
the  insult  I  offered  my  heart.  Death  freed  me,  and  for  tan 
years  I  have  lived  at  least  in  p3ace,  indulging  no  thought  of  a 
second  alliance,  and  merely  amused,  or  disgusted  by  the  mal  ri- 
monial  pnares  that  have  lined  my  path.  I  no  longer  belong  ;,o 
that  pitiable  class  who  feel  constrained  to  marry  for  position, 
nd  who  convert  the  altar-steps  into  so  many  rounds  of  the 
social  ladder ,  and  I  have  earned  the  right  to  indulge  my  out 
raged  heart  in  any  caprice  that  promises  to  mellow,  to  gild  the 
evening  of  my  life  with  that  home-sunshine  that  was  denied 
its  gloomy  tempestuous  morning.  My  future,  my  fortune,  my 
social  standing,  niy  unblemished  name,  are  all  my  own,  —  aad 
I  shall  exercise  my  privilege  of  bestowing  them  where  arid 
when  I  please,  heedless  of  the  sneers  and  howls  of  disap 
pointed  mercenary  schemers.  Come  weal,  come  woe,  I  here 
tinnounce  that  neither  you  nor  the  world  need  hope  to  influence 
me  one  'jot  or  tittle'  in  an  affair  where  I  allow  no  impertinent 
interference.  T  warn  you  this  is  the  last  time  1  shall  permit 
even  an  indirect  allusion  to  matters  with  which  you  have  nc 
legitimate  concern ;  and  provided  you  do  not  obtrude  them 
upon  me,  it  is  a  question  of  indifference  to  me  what  your  opin 
ion  and  that  of  your  '  circle '  may  chance  to  be.  Constance, 
you  here  have  your  ultimatum.  Defy  me,  if  yoii  please,  but 
prompt  separation  will  ensue ;  and  you  will  unexpectedly 
find  yourself  en  route  lor  America.  Peace  or  war?  Before 
you  decide,  recollect  that  all  your  future  will  be  irretrievably 
colored  by  it." 

"  In  my  state  of  health  it  is  positively  cruel  for  you  to 
threaten  me  ;  and  some  day  when  you  follow  my  coffin  to  Monnt 
Auburn,  you  will  repent  your  harshness.  1  wish  to  heaven  \ 
hud  never  left  ho:ne!" 

xV  passionate  lit  of  weeping  curtailed  the  sentence,  and.  while 
Lho  f;;co  was  covered  with  the  lace  handkerchief,  the  brother 
rose  au.l  made  his  escape. 

Despite  the  fact  that  forty  years  had  left  their  whitening 
touches  on  his  head  and  luxuriant  beard,  Merton  Mbage,  wtio 
had  never  been  handsome,  even  in  youth,  was  sufficiently 


388  UNTIL  DEATH  US  LO  PART. 

agreeable  in  appearance  to  render  him  an  object  of  deep  interafS 
in  the  circle  where  he  moved.  Medium- statured,  and  verj 
robust,  a  healthful  ruddy  tinge  robbed  his  complexion  of  that 
sallow  hue  which  mercantile  pursuits  are  apt  to  induce,  and 
brightened  the  deep-set  black  eyes  which  his  debtors  considered 
Siercilessly  keen,  cold,  and  incisive. 

The  square  face,  with  its  broad,  full  forehead,  and  deep  curved 
Jurrow  dividing  the  thick  straight  brows,  —  its  well-shaped 
but  prominent  nose,  and  massive  jaws  and  chin  partially  veiled 
by  a  grizzled  beard  that  swept  over  his  deep  chest,  —  was 
suggestive  of  ledgers  rent-roll,  and  stock-boards,  rather  than 
eesthetics,  chivalry,  or  sentimentality.  The  only  son  of  a  proud 
but  impoverished  family,  who  were  eager  to  retrieve  their 
fortune,  he  had  early  in  life  married  the  imperious  spoiled 
daughter  of  a  Boston  millionaire,  whose  dower  consisted  of  five 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  a  temper  that  eclipsed  the 
unamiable  exploits  of  ancient  and  modern  shrews. 

Hopeless  of  domestic  happiness  in  a  union  to  which  affection 
had  not  prompted  him,  Mr.  Minge  devoted  himself  to  the  rapid 
accumulation  of  wealth,  and  by  judicious  and  successful  specu 
lations  had  doubled  his  fortune,  ere,  at  the  comparatively  early 
age  of  thirty,  he  was  left  a  childless  widower.  Whether  lie 
really  thanked  fate  for  his  timely  release,  his  most  intimate 
friends  were  never  able  to  ascertain,  for  he  wore  mourning, 
badges  for  three  years,  and  conducted  himself  in  all  respects 
with  exemplary  dignity  and  scrupulous  propriety.  But  the 
frigid  indifference  with  which  he  received  all  matrimonial  over 
tures  indicated  that  his  conjugal  experience  was  not  so  rosy  as 
to  tempt  him  to  repeat  the  experiment. 

His  mother  was  a  haughty,  frivolous  woman,  jealously  tena 
cious  of  her  position  as  one  of  the  oligarchs  of  le  beau  monde, 
ftp.d  hia  fragile  sister  had  from  childhood  been  the  victim  of 
rheumatism  that  frequently  rendered  her  entirely  helpless.  To 
these  two  and  their  fashionable  friends,  he  abandoned  his  elo 
gant  home,  costly  equipages,  and  opera-box,  reserving  only  • 
suite  of  rooms,  his  handsome  riding-horse,  and  yacht. 

Grave  and  unostentatious,  yet  not  moody,  —  neither  impui 


UNTIL   DEATH  US  DO    PART.  3»9 

sively  liberal  and  generous  nor  habitually  penurious  and  uncliari 
table,  —  lie  led  a  quiet  and  monotonously  easy  life,  varied  by 
occasional  trips  to  foreign  lands,  and  comforted  by  tlie  assurance 
that  his  income-tax  was  one  of  the  heaviest  in  the  state.  T\\  o 
years  after  the  death  of  his  mother,  he  took  his  sister  a  seconj 
time  to  Europe,  hoping  that  the  climate  of  the  Levant  might 
relieve  her  suffering;  and  upon  the  steamer  in  which  he  crossed 
•.ho  Atlantic  lie  met  Salome  Owen. 

Extravagantly  fond  of  music,  though  unable  to  extract  ii 
fiom  rtJiy  instrument,  his  attention  had  first  been  attracted  by 
her  exquisite  voice,  which  invested  the  voyage  with  a  novel 
charm  and  rendered  her  a  great  favorite  with  the  passengers. 

Human  nature  is  wofully  inflexible  and  obstinate,  and  not  all 
•'he  Menuci,  Zoroasters,  Solomons,  and  Platos  have  taiight  it 
wisdom;  wherefore  it  is  not  surprising  that  a  caustic  wit  and 
savage  cynic  asserts,  "  The  vices,  it  may  be  said,  await  us  in 
the  journey  of  life  like  hosts  with  whom  we  must  successively 
lodge;  and  I  doubt  whether  experience  would  make  us  avoid 
ihera  if  we  were  to  travel  the  same  roa,d  a  second  time." 

Habit  may  be  second  nature,  but  it  is  the  Gurth,  the  thrall 
oi  ihe  first,  • —  the  vassal  of  inherent  impulses ;  and  even  the 
most  ossified  natxires  contain  some  soft  palpitating  spot  that  will 
throb  against  the  hand  that  is  sufficiently  dexterous  to  find  it. 
In  every  man  and  woman  there  lurks  a  vein  of  sentiment,  which, 
no  matter  how  heavily  crushed  by  the  superincumbent  mass  of 
utilitarian,  practical  commonplace! sins,  will  one  day  trickle 
through  the  dusty  debris,  and  creep  like  a  silver  thread  over  the 
dun  waste  of  selfishness ;  or,  Arethusa-like,  burst  forth  suddenly 
after  long  subterranean  wandering. 

For  forty  years  it  had  crawled  silently  and  sluggishly  under  the 
indurated  and  coldly  egoistic  nature  of  Mertou  Minge,  —  had 
been  dammed  up  at  times  by  avarice  and  at  others  by  grim 
recollections  of  his  domestic  infelicity ;  but  finally,  after  tedious 
meandering  in  the  Desert  of  Heartlessness,  it  struggled  tri 
umphantly  to  the  surface  one  glorious  autumn  night,  when  a 
golden  moon  illumined  the  Atlantic  waves  and  kindled  a  bfr 
33* 


390  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

witching  beauty  in  the  face  of  Salome,  who  sat  OIL  deck,  •jiugin| 
an  impassioned  strain  from  La  Favorite. 

Her  silvery  voice  was  the  miraculous  rod  that  smote  his  pet 
rified  affections,  and  a  wellspriiig  of  tenderness  gushed  forth, 
freshening,  softening,  and  clothing  with  verdure  anl  bloom  hit 
arid,  sterile,  stony  temperament.  Long-buried  dreams  of  liis 
boyhood  stirred  in  their  chilly  graves  and  flitted  dimly  bef'oif. 
him,  and  a  hope  that  had  slumbered  so  soundly  he  had  utter  lj 
ignored  its  memory,  started  up,  eager  and  starry-eyed,  as  in  the 
college  days  of  eld,  —  the  precious  hope,  underlying  all  other 
emotions  in  a  man's  heart,  that  one  day  he  too  would  be  loved 
and  prayed  for  by  a  pure  womanly  heart,  and  pure,  sweet, 
womanly  lips. 

Fifteen  years  before,  he  had  vowed  "to  cherish,"  not  the 
haughty  girl  whose  hand  he  clasped,  but  the  five  hundred  thou- 
uand  dollars  that  gilded  it ;  and  faithfully  he  had  kept  his  oath 
to  the  god  of  Ms  idolatry,  sacrificing  the  best  half  of  his  life  to 
insatiate  Jiuvera. 

On  that  cloudless  October  night,  as  lie  watched  the  sLimmer 
of  the  moon  on  Salome's  silky  hair,  and  noted  the  purely  oval 
outline  of  her  daintily  carved  face,  and  the  childish  grace  of  her 
fine  form,  —  as  he  listened  to  flute-like  tones,  as  irresistible  as 
Parthxnope's,  his  cold,  formal,  non-committal  mouth  stirred,  his 
hand  involuntarily  opened  and  closed  firmly,  as  if  grasping 
some  "pearl  of  great  price,"  and  his  slow,  almost  stagnant 
pulses,  leaped  into  feverish  activity,  and  soon  ran  riot.  Perhaps 
more  regular  features,  and  deeper,  richer  carnation  bloom  nad 
confronted  him,  but  love  makes  sad  havoc  of  ideals  and  abstract 
standards,  and  he  who  defined  beat^y,  "  the  woman  I  love,"  was 
wiser  th\n  Burke  and  more  analytical  than  Cousin. 

The  freshness,  the  brusquerie,  the  outspoken  honesty,  thai 
characterized  Salome,  strangely  fascinated  this  grave,  selfish, 
hlasg  aristocrat,  who  was  weary  of  hollow,  polished  convention 
alities  and  stereotyped  society  phrases ;  and,  as  he  sat  on  deck 
watching  her  count  snance,  he  would  have  counted  out  his  fortusa 
at  her  feet  for  the  privilege  of  claiming  her  fair,  slender  hand 


VbTIL  DEAU  l.fj  DO  f^lT.  39 i 

wad   her  tremulous,  scarlet  lips,  instinct  with  melouy  that  en 
tranced  him. 

Henceforth  life  had  a  different  goal,  a  nobler  aim,  a  tenderei 
and  more  precious  hope;  and  all  the  energy  of  his  vigorous 
character  was  bent  to  the  fulfilment  of  the  beautiful  dream  tha 
one  day  that  young  girl  would  bear  his  name,  grace  his  princely 
home,  and  nestle  in  his  heart. 

He  did  not  ask,  Can  that  fair,  graceful,  gifted  young  thing 
ever  lovo  a  gray-haired  man,  old  enough  to  call  her  his  daugh 
ter  V  I'>  ay,  nay  !  Common  sense  was  utterly  dethroned  and 
expelled,  —  romance  usurped  the  realm,  and  draped,  the  future 
with  rainbows;  and  he  only  set  his  teeth  firmly  against  each 
other,  and  said  to  his  bounding  heart  and  blinded  soul,  "i5a- 
tience,  ye  shall  soon  possess  her  !  " 

To    Paris,  Lyons,   Naples,  he  had   followed  her,  and  finally 

secured  a  villa  at  Palermo,  where  Prof.  V had  established 

himself  and  his  household  m  a  comfortable  suite  of  rooms. 

To-day,  as  ho  left  his  sister  and  approached  the  house  where 
the  professor  dwelt,  his  countenance  was  moody  and  forbidding, 
but  its  expression  changed  rapidly,  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  white  muslin  dress  that  fluttered  in  the  evening  wind. 

Salome  was  swiftly  pacing  the  wide  terrace  that  commanded 
a  view  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  her  handa  were  clasped  behind 
her,  as  was  her  habit  when  immersed  in  thought. 

Over  her  head  she  had  thrown  a  white  gauze  scarf  of  fringed 
dlkj  which,  slipping  back,  displayed  the  elaborate  braids  of  Imir 
wound  around  the  head,  where  a  crescent  of  snowy  hyacinthis 
partially  encircled  the  glossy  coil,  and  drooped  upon  her  neck. 

Her  face  wore  a  haggard,  anxious,  restless  expression,  and 
•fhe  thin  lips  had  lost  their  bright  coral  tint,  —  the  smooth,  cleat 
cheeks  something  of  their  rounded  perfection. 

As  Mr.  Minge  came  forward,  she  paused  in  her  walk  am? 
leaned  against  the  marble  railing  of  the  terrace,  where  a  lemoj 
tree,  white  with  bloom,  overhung  the  mosaiced  lioor  and  I»OT»' 
deretl  it  with  velvety  petals. 

lie  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  hope  I  find  you  better  ?  " 


392  UNTIL  DEATH  U3  DO  PART. 

"  Do  I  look  so,  think  you?  "  said  she,  eyeing  him  impatiently 
and  keeping  her  hands  folded  behind  her. 

"  Unfortunately,  no ;  and  if  I  possessed  the  right  I  have  mor« 
than  once  solicited,  other  physicians  should  be  consulted.  Whj 
will  you  tamper  with  so  serious  a  matter,  and  unnecessarily 
augment  the  anxiety  of  those  who  love  you  ?  " 

"  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  my  self-love  is  infinitely  strongei 
than  any  other  with  which  I  am  honored,  and  prompts  me  to 
all  possible  prudential  precautions.  Three  doctors  have  already 
annoyed  me  with  worthless  prescriptions,  and  this  morning  I 
paid  their  bills  and  dismissed  them;  whereupon,  one  of  them 
revenged  himself  by  maliciously  informing  me  that  I  should  not 
be  able  to  sing  a  note  for  one  year  at  least. 

"  To  what  do  they  attribute  the  disease  ?  " 

"  To  that  attack  of  scarlet  fever,  and  also  to  the  too  frequent 
and  severe  cauterization  of  my  throat.  Time  was  when  like 
other  fond  fools,  I  fancied  Fate  was  not  the  hideous  hag  that 
wiser  heads  had  painted  her,  but  an  affable  old  dame,  easily 
cajoled  and  propitiated.  With  Carthaginian  gratitude  she  re 
pays  my  complimentary  opinion  by  trampling  my  hopes  and 
aims  as  I  crush  these  petals,  which  yield  perfume  to  their 
spoiler,  while  I  could  —  " 

She  put  her  foot  upon  the  drifting  lemon  blossoms,  and  bit 
her  lip  to  keep  back  the  bitter  words  that  trembled  on  her 
tongue. 

"  Come  and  sit  here  on  tho  steps,  and  confide  your  plans  to 
one  whose  every  scheme  ihall  be  subordinated  to  your  wishes, 
jour  happiness.'' 

Mr.  Minge  attempted  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  drew  back 
and  repulsed  him. 

"  Excuse  me.  I  prefer  to  remain  where  I  am  ;  and  when  I  an?. 
90  fortunate  and  sagacious  as  to  mature  any  plans,  I  shall  be 
sure  to  lock  them  in  my  own  heart  beyond  the  tender  aieicie* 
of  meddling,  marplot  fortune." 

Her  whole  face  grew  dark,  sinister,  almost  dangerous  in  its 
sudden  transformation,  and,  leaning  against  the  railing,  she  im 
patiently  swept  off  the  snowv  lemon  leaves.  Mr.  Mitge  tool* 


UNTIL  IJIZATII  US  DO  PART.  393 

ilie  end  of  her  scarf,  and  as  he  toyed  with  the  fringe^  sighed 
heavily. 

"  Of  course  you  are  forced  to  abandon  your  contemplated 
debut  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Yes.  A  debut  minus  a  voice,  does  not  tempt  me.  Ah  1  ho^B 
bright  the  future  looked  when  I  sang  for  the  agent  of  the  Oper& 
llou.se,  and  found  myself  engaged  for  the  season.  How  changed, 
low  cheerless  all  things  seem  now." 

"  Salome,  fate  is  Janus-faced,  and  while  frowning  on  you 
iniiles  benignantly  011  me.  I  joyfully  hail  every  obstacle  that 
oars  your  path,  hoping  that,  weary  of  useless  resistance,  you 
will  consent  to  walk  in  the  flowery  one  I  have  offered  you.  My 
beautiful  darling,  why  -will  you  refuse  the  — 

"  Silence  !  £  am  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  a  repetition  of  sen 
timents  which,  however  flattering  to  my  vanity,  have  no  power 
to  touch  my  heart.  Mr.  Minge,  I  have  twice  declined  the  oiler 
you  have  done  me  the  honor  to  make ;  and  while  proud  of  your 
preference,  my  Saxon  is  not  so  ambiguous  or  redundant  as  to 
leave  any  margin  for  misconception  of  my  meaning." 

"  My  dear  Salome,  I  fear  your  decision  has  been  influenced  by 
the  consciousness  that  my  poor,  petted  Constance  has  occasion 
ally  neglected  the  courtesies  which  you  had  a  right  to  claim 
from  the  sister  of  the  man  who  seeks  to  make  you  his  wife." 

"  No,  sir ;  your  sister's  sneers,  and  the  petty  slights  and  per 
secutions  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  her  friend,  Miss  Suther 
land,  have  not  sufficient  importance  to  alfect  me  in  any  degree. 
My  decision  is  based  upon  the  unfortunate  fact  that  I  do  ixo4 
love  you." 

"  No  woman  can  withstand  such  devotion  as  I  bring  you,  and 
time  would  soon  soften  and  deepen  your  feelings." 

"  Sir,  you  unduly  flatter  yourself.  Neither  time  nor  eternity 
would  change  me,  and  you  would  do  well  to  remember  that  it  ia 
•jay  voice,  sir,  —  not  my  hand  and  heart,  —  that  I  oiler  foz 
sak" 

"  Your  stubborn  rejection  is  explicable  only  by  ths  supposi 
tion  that  you  have  deceived  me,  —  that  you  have  already  hw 
tcred  away  the  hear4-  I  long  to  call  my  own." 


394  VJfTIL  DEATH  US  .DO  PAR1. 

"  I  am  a  miller's  child,  —  you  a  daillionnaite ,  bat  permit 
me  to  remind  you  that  I  allow  nc  imputation  on  my  veracity. 
Wb.y  should  I  condescend  to  deceiye  you  ?  " 

Sho  petulantly  snatched  her  scarf  from  the  fingers  that  still 
stroked  it  caressingly ;  but  an  instant  later  a  singular  change 
gwopt  over  her  countenance,  and  pressing  her  hands  to  her 
keart,  sh3  said  in  a  proud,  almost  exultant  tone, — 

"  Although  I  deny  your  right  to  question  me  upon  this  sub 
jeet,  you  are  thoroughly  welcome  to  know  that  I  love  one  man 
BO  entirely,  so  deathlessiy,  that  the  bare  thought  of  many  ing 
any  one  else  sickens  my  soul." 

Mr.  Minge  turned  pale,  and  grasped  the  carved  balustrade 
against  which  he  rested. 

"  O  Salome  !  you  have  trifled." 

"  No,  sir.  Take  that  back.  I  never  stoop  to  trifling ;  and 
the  curse  of  my  life  has  been  my  almost  fatal  earnestness  of 
purpose.  If  I  ever  deliberated  one  moment  concerning  the 
expediency  of  clothing  myself  first  with  your  aristocratic 
name,  afterwards  with  satin,  velvet,  and  diamonds,  —  if  1  ever 
silenced  the  outcry  of  my  heart  long  enough  to  ask  myself 
whether  gilded  misery  was  not  the  least  torturing  type  of  the 
epidemic  wretchedness,  —  at  least  I  kept  my  parley  with  Mam 
mon  to  myself;  and  if  you  obstinately  cherished  hopes  of  final 
success,  they  sprang  from  your  vanity,  not  my  dissimulation, 
Mark  you,  I  here  set  up  no  claim  to  sanctity,  —  for  indeed  my 
sins  are  'thick  as  leaves  in  Vallombrosa';  but  my  pedigree  does 
not  happen  to  link  me  with  Sapphire,  and  deceit  is  not  charged 
to  me  in  the  real  Doomsday  Book.  Theft  would  be  more  possi 
ble  for  me  than  falsehood,  for  while  both  are  labelled  *  -Tricked,' 
I.  could  never  dwarf  and  shrivel  my  soul  by  the  cowardly 
process  of  mendacity.  Mr.  Minge,  had  I  been  a  trifle  less 
bonest  and  true  than  I  find  myself,  I  might  have  impaired  my 
aelf-respect  by  trifling." 

"  Forgivt,  me,  Salome,  if  the  pain  I  endure  rendered  me  harsh 
or  unjust.  My  dearest,  I  did  not  intend  to  wound  you,  but 
indeed  you  are  cruel  sometimes." 

"  Yes ;  truth  is  the  most  savagely  cruel  of  all  rude,  jogged 


UNTIL  DEAfll   Ua  UO  PART.  39fi 

weapons,  and  leaves  ugly  gashes  and  quivering  nerve*  expjsed , 
and  these  are  the  hurts  that  never  cicatrize,  —  that  gape  and 
bleed  while  the  heart  throbs  to  feed  them." 

"Tell  me  candidly  whether  the  heart  I  covet  belongs  to 
that  Mr.  Granville,  who  paid  you  sr.eh  devoted  attention  u 
Paris." 

A  short,  scornful,  mirthless  luugh  rang  sharply  on  the  iir 
&i\d  turning  quickly,  Salome  exclaimed  contemptuously,— 

"  I  said  1  loved  a  man,  —  a  true,  honest,  brave,  noble  man, — 
uot  that  perfumed,  unprincipled,  vain,  foppish  automaton,  W!K; 
adorns  a  corner  of  the  diplomatic  apartment  where  attaches  of 
the  American  embassy  'most  do  congregate'!  Gerard  Gran 
ville  is  unworthy  of  any  woman's  aJ lection,  for  maugre  the  in 
disputable  fact  t.-hafc  he  is  betrothed  to  a  fond,  trusting  girl,  now 
Ln  the  United  Slates,  he  had  the  effrontery  to  attempt  to  offer 
his  addresses  to  me.  If  an  honest  man  be  the5,  noblest  work  of 
God,  then,  beyond  all  peradventure,  the  disgrace  of  creation  is 
cf.r-tred  in  an  unscrupulous  one,  such  as  1  have  the  honor  to 
pronounce  Mr.  Granville." 

Seizing  her  hands,  Mr.  Minge  carried  them  forcibly  to  his  lips, 
p.nci  said,  iu  a  voice  that  faltered  from  intensity  of  feeling, — 

"  Is  it  the  hope  that  your  love  is  reciprocated  which  bars 
your  heart  so  sternly  against  niy  pleadings?  Spare  me  no 
pangs,  —  tell  me  all." 

She  freed  her  lingers  from  his  grasp,  and  retreating  a  few 
steps,  answered  with  a  passionate  /nournfu Iness  which  he  never 
forgul ,  — 

"If  1  were  uuv.'cred  with  that  precious  hope,  not  all  the 
crown  jewels  in  Christendom  and  Heathendom  could  purchase 
it.  Not  the  proudest  throne  ors  that  continent  of  empires  that 
lies  yonder  to  the  north,  could  woo  me  one  hour  from  the  onlj 
kingdom  where  I  could  happily  reign,  —  the  heart  of  the  man  1 
love.  N  ^  —  no  —  no  !  That  hope  is  as  distant  as  the  first  star 
up  there  above  us,  which  has  rent  the  blue  veil  of  heaven  to 
gaze  pityingly  at  me ;  and  1  would  as  soon  expect  to  catch  that 
silver  sparkle  and  fold  it  in  my  arms  as  dream  that  my  affec 
tion  could  ever  be  returned.  The  only  man  T  shall  ever  love 


396  UNTIL  HEATR  US  DO   t>ART. 

could  not  bend  his  noble,  regal  nature  to  the  level  of  mize,  and 
towers  beyond  me,  a  pinnacle  ol  unapproachable  purity  and  per 
fection.  Ah,  indeed,  he  is  one  of  those  concerning  whom  it 
has  been  grandly  said :  '  The  truly  great  stand  upright  :ts  col 
wnnsof  the  temple  if: hose  doine  covers  all,  —  against  whose  p& 
'Aired  sides  multitudes  lean,  at  whose  base  tliey  kneel  i  *  time* 
sf  trouble?  Mr.  Mbige,  it  is  despair  that  crouches  at  my  heart, 
not  hope  that  shuts  its  portals  against  your  earnest  petition  ;  few 
a  barrier  wider,  deeper  than  a  hundred  oceans  divides  me  from 
my  idol,  who  loves,  and  ere  this,  is  the  husband  of  another." 

She  did  not  observe  the  glow  that  once  more  mantled  Kb; 
cheek,  and  fired  his  eyes,  until  he  exclaimed  with  unusual 
fervor,  — 

"  Thank  God  !     That  fact  is  freighted  with  priceless  comfort." 

Compassion  and  contempt  seemed  struggling  for  mastery,  aa 
she  waved  him  from  her,  and  answered,  impatiently,  — 

"  Think  you  that  any  other  need  hope  to  usurp  my  monarch's 
place,  — that  one  inferior  dare  expect  to  wield  Ms  sceptre  over 
iny  heart  ?  Pardon  me,  — 

'  If  there  were  not  aa  eagle  in  the  realm  of  birds, 
Must  then  the  owl  be  king  among  the  feathered  herds  ? ' 

Some  lay  a  gentler  spirit  than  mine  will  fill  your  home  "\\xth 
musi:,  and  your  heart  with  peace  and  sunshine ;  and,  in  that 
hour,  thank  honest  Salome  Owen  for  the  blessings  you  owe  to 
her  candor.  I  must  bid  you  good-night." 

She  drew  the  scarf  closer  about  her  head  and  throat,  and 
•,arned  to  leave  the  terrace. 

"  Will  you  not  allow  me  to  drive  you  to-morrow  afternoon  on 
the  Marino  ?  Do  not  refuse  me  this  innorent  and  inexpressibly 
rained  privilege.  I  will  not  be  denied  !  Good-night,  my — 
Heaven  shield  jou,  my  worshipped  one!  Hush! — I  will  hear 
uo  refusal." 

He  stroped,  kissed  the  fol  Is  of  the  scarf  that  covered  hei 
head,  and  hurried  down  the  steps  of  the  terrace. 

The  glory  of  a  Sicilian  sunset  bathed  the  face  and  figure  thai 
•tood  a  moment  under  the  lemon-boughs,  watching  the  retreat- 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PARK  39? 

ing  form  which  soon  disappeared  behind  clustering  pomegranate, 
olive,  and  palm ;  and  a  tender  compassion  looked  out  of  the 
large  hazel  eyes,  and  sat  on  the  sad  lips  that  murmured,  — 

"God  help  you,  Merton  Minge,  to  strangle  the  viper  that 
coils  in.  jour  heart,  and  gnaws  its  core.  My  own  is  a  serpent'* 
lair,  and  I  pity  the  pangs  that  rend  yours  also.  But  after  » 
*iitle  while,  your  viper  will  find  a  file,  —  mine,  alas!  not  until 
sUath.  arrests  the  slow  torture.  To-morrow  afternoon  I  shall  be 
—  where  ?  Only  God  knows." 

She  shivered  slightly,  and  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  tov:ai>d3 
tLe  west,  where  golden  gleams  and  violet  shadows  were  battling 
for  possession  of  a  reef  of  cloud  islets,  which  dolueu  the  azure 
upper  sea  of  air,  and  were  reflected  in  the  watery  .a*.,  beneath. 

"  Courage !  courage  1 

*  Those  who  have  nothing  left  to  hope, 
Have  nothing  left  to  dread.'  " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

] URIEL,  where  can  I  find  Miss  Dexter  ?  " 

"  She  went  out  on  the  lawn  an  hour  ago,  to  re 
gale  herself  with  what  she  calls,  '  atmospheric  hip- 
poerene,'  and  I  have  not  heard  her  come  in,  thoxigh  she  may 
have  gone  to  her  room.  Pray  tell  me,  doctor,  why  you  wish 
to  see  my  governess?  —  to  inquire  concerning  my  numerous 
peccadilloes?  " 

Muriel  adroitly  folded  her  embroidered  silk  apron  over  a 
package  of  letters  that  lay  in  her  lap,  and  affected  an  air  ef 
gayeiy  at  variance  with  her  dim  eyes  and  wet  lashes. 

"  I  shall  believe  that  conscience  accuses  you  of  many  juve 
nile  improprieties,  since  you  so  suspiciously  attacK  my  motives 
and  intentions.  Indeed,  little  one,  you  flatter  yourself  unduly, 
in  imagining  that  my  interview  with  Miss  Dexter  necessarily 
Involves  the  discussion  of  her  pupiL  I  merely  wish  «o  enlisJ 
S4 


*98  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

her  sympathy  in  behalf  of  one  of  my  patients.  Muriel,  1 
would  have  been  much  more  gratified  if  I  had  found  you.  "walk 
ing  vrith  her,  instead  of  moping  here  ale  ne." 

"  I  am  not  moping." 

The  girl  bib  her  full  red  lip,  and  strove  to  force  back  ii » 
rapidly  gathering  tears. 

"At  least  you  are  not  cheerful,  and  it  pains  me  to  see  that 
anxious,  dissatisfied  expression  on  a  face  that  should  reflect 
only  sunshine.  What  disturbs  you  ?  —  the  scarci:y  of  Gerard's 
letters?" 

Dr.  Grey  sat  down  beside  liis  ward,  and  throwing  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  she  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears.  The 
sudden  movement  uncovered  the  letters,  which  slipped  down 
and  strewed  the  carpet. 

"  Oh,  doctor  !     ].  am  very  miserable  !  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  child  ?  " 

"  Because  Gerard  does  not  love  me  as  formerly." 

"What  reason  have  you  for  doubting  his  affection  ?  " 

"  He  scarcely  writes  to  me  once  a  month,  and  then  his  letters 
are  short  and  cold  as  icicles,  and  full  of  court  gossip  and  fashion 
items,  for  which  he  knows  I  do  not  care  a  straw.  Yesterday  I 
received  one,  —  the  first  I  have  had  for  three  weeks,  —  and  he 
requests  me  to  defer  our  marriage  at  least  six  months  longer, 
as  he  can  not  possibly  come  over  in  May,  the  time  appointed 
when  he  was  here." 

She  hid  her  face  on  her  guardian's  shoulder,  and  sobbed. 

An  expression  of  painful  surprise  and  stern  displeasure 
clouded  Dr.  Grey's  countenance,  ab  he  smoothed  the  hair  away 
from  the  girl's  throbbing  temples. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Muriel.  If  Gerard  has  forfeited  your  con 
fidence,  he  is  unworthy  of  your  tears.  Do  you  apprehend  that 
ills  indifference  is  merely  the  result  of  separation,  or  have  you 
stay  cause  to  attribute  it  to  interest  in  some  other  person?  " 

"  That  is  a  question  I  can  not  answer." 

"  Can  not^  or  will  not  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  positively ;  but  I  fear  something,  whicij 
perhaps  I  ought  not  to  mention." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  399 

"  Throw  aside  all  hesitancy,  and  talk  freely  to  me.  If  Graa- 
vilie  is  either  fickle  or  dishonorable,  you  should  rejoice  that  the 
discovery  has  been  made  in  time  to  save  you  from  life-long 
wretchedness." 

"  If  we  were  only  married,  1  am  sure  I  could  win  him  back 
to  me." 

"  'That  is  a  fatal  fallacy,  that  has  wrecked  the  happiness  of 
many  women.  If  a  lover  grows  indifferent,  as  a  husband  he 
will  be  cold,  unkind,  unendurable.  If  as  a  devoted  fiancee 
you  can  not  retain  and  strengthen  his  aiFection,  —  as  a  wife 
you  would  weary  and  repel  him.  Have  you  answered  the  last 
letter  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  My  dear  child,  do  you  not  consider  me  your  best  friend?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do." 

"  Then  yield  to  my  guidance,  and  follow  my  advice.  Lose  no 
time  in  writing  to  Mr.  Granville,  and  cancel  your  engage 
ment.  Tell  him  ho  is  free." 

"Oh,  then  I  should  lose  him,  —  and  happiness,  forever.!" 
wailed  Muriel,  clasping  her  hands  almost  despairingly. 

"  You  have  already  lost  his  heart,  and  should  be  unwilling  to 
retain  him  in  fetters  that  must  be  galling." 

f(  Ah,  Dr.  Grey  !  it  is  very  easy  for  you  who  never  loved  any 
one,  to  tell  me,  in  that  cold,  business-like  way,  that  I  ought  to 
set  Gerard  free;  but  you  can  not  realize  what  it  costs  to  follow 
your  coxmsel.  Of  course  I  know  that  in  everything  else  you 
are  much  wiser  than  I,  but  persons  who  have  no  love  aii'airs  of 
their  own  are  not  the  best  judges  of  other  people's.  He  is  so 
dear  to  me,  I  believe  it  would  kill  me  to  give  him  up,  and 
»ee  him  no  more." 

On  the  contrary,  you  would  survive  much  greater  iniafor 
tuiie  than  separation  from  a  man  Avho  is  unworthy  of  you,  i 
win  not  coerce,  but  simply  counsel  you  in  this  matter,  and 
should  bo  glad  to  learn  what  your  own  decision  is.  Do  you 
intend  to  wait  until  Gerard  Granville  explicitly  requests  you 
:o  release  him  from  his  engagement?" 

She  winced,  and  the  tears  gushed  anew. 


400  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAST. 

"  Oh,  you  are  cruel !     Yo  a  are  heartless  !  " 

"  No,  my  dear  Muriel ;  I  am  actuated  by  the  truest  affertioa 
for  my  little  ward,  and  desire  to  snatch  her  from  future  humilia 
tion.  My  knowledge  of  human  nature  is  more  extended,  more 
profound  than  yours,  but  since  you  seem  unwilling  to  aval1 
yourself  of  my  experience,  it  only  remains  for  you  to  aoqoaim 
me  •with  vour  determination.  Are  you  willing  to  tell  me  tiba 
nature  of  your  answer  ?  " 

"  1  intend  to  accede  to  Gerard's  wish,  and  will  defer  the  mai 
ria<re  until  November ;  but  in  the  meantime,  I  shall  endeavor 
to  win  back  his  heart,  which  I  believe  has  been  artfully  enticed 
from  me." 

"By  whom?" 

She  made  no  reply,  and  lifting  her  head  from  his  shoulder, 
Dr.  Grey  looked  keenly  into  her  face,  and  repeated  his  question. 

"  Do  not  urge  me  to  express  suspicious  that  may  possibly  be 
unjust." 

"  That  are  entirely  unjust,  you  may  rest  assured,"  said  het 
almost  vehemently. 

"  By  what  means  did  you  so  positively  ascertain  that  fact?  " 

"  The  result  will  prove.  Now,  my  dear  child,  you  must  ac 
quit  me  of  hearfclessness  and  cruelty  when  I  tell  you,  that,  under 
existing  circumstances,  I  can  not  and  will  not  consent  to  thfl 
solemnization  of  your  marriage  until  you  are  of  age.  Once  the 
conviction  that  an  earlier  consummation  of  your  engagement 
was  essential  to  the  happiness  of  both  parties,  overruled  the 
dictates  of  my  judgment,  and  induced  me  to  acquiesce  in  your 
wishes ;  but  subsequent  events  have  illustrated  the  wisdom  of 
my  former  opposition,  and  now  I  am  resolved  that  no  argument 
or  persuasion  shall  prevail  upon  me  to  sanction  or  permit  year 
marriage  until  you  are  twenty-one." 

With  a  sharp  cry  of  chagrin  and  amazement,  Muriel  sprang 
tc  her  feet. 

"You  surely  do  not  mean  to  keep  me  in  this  torture,  for 
nearly  three  years  ?  I  will  not  submit  to  such  tyranny,  even 
from  Dr.  Grey." 

"  As  a  faithful  guardian,  I  can  see  no  alternati  76,  and  fear  of 


UNTIL  DEATH    US  DO  PART.  401 

incurring  your  displeasure  shall  not  deter  me  from  tne  j>erfbrai 
ance  of  a  stern  duty  to  the  child  of  my  best  and  dearest  friend 
I  must  and  will  do  what  your  father  cartainly  would,  were  h« 
alive.  My  dear  Muriel,  control  yourself,  and  do  not,  by  harah 
epithets  and  unjust  acctisations,  wound  'Jae  heart  that  sincere Iv 
loves  you  To-day,  as  your  guardian,  1  hearken  to  the  impera 
tive  dictates  of  my  conscience,  and  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  plea-J 
ings  of  my  tender  affection,  which  would  save  you  from  eve:; 
momentary  sorrow  and  disappointment.  Since  my  decision  in 
irrevocable,  do  not  render  the  execution  of  my  purpose  more 
painful  than  necessity  demands." 

Seizing  his  hand,  Muriel  pressed  it  against  her  flushed  cheek, 
and  pleaded  falteringly, — 

"  Do  not  doom  your  poor  little  Muriel  to  such  misery.  Oh} 
Dr.  Grey !  dear  Dr.  Grey,  remember  you  promised  my  dying 
father  to  take  his  place,  —  and  he  would  never  inflict  such  suffer 
ing  on  Ids  child.  You  have  forgotten  your  promise  !  " 

"  No,  dear  child.  It  is  because  I  hold  it  so  sacred  that  I  can 
oot  yield  to  yoiir  entreaties;  and  I  must  faithfully  adhere  to 
my  obligations,  even  though  I  forfeit  your  affection.  I  shall 
write  to  Mr.  Granville  by  the  next  mail,  and  it  is  my  wish  that 
henceforth  the  subject  should  not  be  referred  to.  Cheer  up,  my 
child  ;  three  years  will  soon  glide  away,  and  at  the  expiration 
of  that  time  you  will  thank  me  for  the  firmness  which  you  now 
denounce  as  cruelty.  Good-morning.  Be  sure  to  thinlc  kindly 
of  your  guardian,  whose  heart  is  quite  as  sad  as  your  own." 

She  struggled  and  resisted,  but  he  kissed  her  Lightly  on  the 
forehead,  and  as  he  left  the  room  heard  her  bitter  invectives 
ftgains"  his  tyranny  and  hard-heartedness. 

Crossing  the  elin-studded  lawn,  he  approached  a  seclude^ 
walk,  bordered  with  lilacs  and  myrtle,  and  saw  the  figure  of  the 
governess  pacing  to  and  fro. 

During  the  four  months  that  had  elapsed  since  his  last  visit 
to  "  Solitude,"  he  scrutinized  and  studied  her  character  more 
closely  than  formerly,  and  the  investigation  only  heightened 
wad  intensified  his  esteem. 

No  hint  of  her  history  had  ever  passed  the  calm,  patient  lipa, 
84* 


402  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

which  had  forgotten  how  to  laugh,  and  now,  as  he  watched  hes 
pale,  melancholy  face,  which  bore  traces  of  extraordinary  beauty; 
he  exonerated  her  from  all  blame  in  the  ruinous  deception  that 
had  blasted  more  lives  than  one ;  and  honored  the  silent  hero- 
ram  which  so  securely  locked  her  disappointment  in  her  own 
heart.  He  knew  that  consumption  was  the  hereditary  sco'orge 
of  her  family,  that  she  bore  in  her  constitution  the  seeds  of 
slowly  but  surely  developing  disease,  and  did  not  marvel  at  the 
quiet  indifference  \vith  which  she  treated  symptoms  which  he 
had  several  times  pointed  out  as  serious  and  dangerous. 

To-day  her  manner  was  excited,  and  her  step  betrayed  very 
unusual  impatience. 

"  Miss  Dexter,  from  the  frequency  of  your  cough  I  am  afraid 
you  are  imprudent  in  selecting  this  walk,  which  is  so  densely 
shaded  that  the  sun  does  not  reach  it  until  nearly  noon.  Are 
not  your  feet  damp  ?  " 

"Xo,  sir;  my  shoes  are  thick,  and  thoroughly  protect  them." 

She  paused  before  him,  aud,  in  her  soft,  brown  eyes,  he  saw 
a  strange,  unwonted  restlessness,  —  an  eager  expectancy  that 
surprised  and  disturbed  him. 

"  Are  you  at  leisure  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Do  you  need  my  services  immediately  ?  " 

She  answered  evasively ;  and  he  noticed  that  she  glanced 
anxiously  toward  the  road  leading  into  town. 

"You  will  greatly  oblige  me,  if  some  time  during  the  day, 
you  will  be  so  good  as  to  superintend  the  preparation  of  some 
calves'-feet  jelly,  for  one  of  my  poor  patients.  I  would  not 
trouble  you,  but  Rachel  is  quite  sick,  and  the  c.ew  cook  doe* 
not  understand  the  process.  May  I  depend  upon  you  ?  " 

"Certainly,  sir;  it  will  afford  me  pleasure  to  prepare  the 
jelly." 

Looking  more  closely  at  her  face,  he  saw  undeniable  traces  of 
recent  tears,  and  drew  her  arm  through  his. 

"  I  hope  yo  j  will  not  deem  me  impertinently  curious  if  1  beg 
you  to  honor  me  with  your  confidence,  and  explain  the  aiiTiety 
which  is  evidently  preying  upon  your  mind." 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  403 

Embarrassment  flushed  her  transparent  cheek,  and  tier  shy 
eyes  glanced  up  uneasily. 

"At  least,  Miss  Dexter,  permit  me  to  ask  whether  Muriel  i* 
connected  with  the  cause  of  your  disquiet?" 

"My  pupil  is,  I  fear,  very  unhappy  ;  but  she  withholds  much 
from  me  since  she  learned  my  disapproval  of  her  approaching 
E-arriage." 

"Yvlll  you  acquaint  me  with  your  objections  to  Mr.  Gran- 
ville?" 

Against  Mr.  Granville,  the  gentleman,  I  have  nothing  to 
urge ;  but  I  could  not  consent  to  see  Muriel  wed  a  man,  who,  I 
am  convinced,  has  no  alfection  for  her." 

"Have  you  told  her  this?  " 

"Repeatedly;  and,  of  course,  my  frankness  has  offended  and 
alienated  her.  Oh,  Dr.  Grey !  the;  child  totters  on  the  brink 
of  a  (lower-veiled  precipice,  and  will  heed  110  warning.  Per 
haps  I  .should  libel  Mr.  Granville  were  I  to  impute  mercenary 
motives  to  him, — perhaps  he  fancied  be  loved  Muriel  when  ho 
addressed  her,  —  I  hope  so,  for  the  honor  of  manhood;  but  the 
glamour  was  brief,  and  certainly  he  must  be  aware  that  he  haa 
riot  proper  ailection  for  her  now." 

"And  yet,  she  is  very  lovable  and  winning." 

"Yes,  —  to  you  and  to  me;  but  her  good  qualities  are  not 
those  which  gentlemen  find  most  attractive.  What  is  Christian 
purity  and  noble  generosity  of  soul,  iu  comparison  with  physical 
perfection?  Muriel  often  reminds  me  of  one  whom  I  Joved 
ievotedly,  whose  unselfish  and  unsuspicious  nature  wi  ought 
L  c  ruin  of  her  happiness;  and  from  her  miserable  fate  I  vould 
,  Ain  save  my  pupil." 

i  [o  know  from  the  tremor  of  her  lips  and  hands,  and   ihf 
momentary  contraction  of  her  fair  brow,  to  whom  she  alluded 
and  both  sighed  audibly. 

"My  convictions  coincide  so  entirely  with  youis,  that  1  ha<r» 
had  an  interview  with  my  ward,  and  withdrawn  my  consent  to 
her  marriage  until  she  is  of  age." 

"  Thank  God  !  In  the  interim  she  may  grow  wiser,  or  some 
fortuitous  occurrence  may  avert  the  danger  we  dread." 


404  UNTln  DEATH   US  DO  PAJtl 

In  the  brief  silence  that  ensued,  the  governess  seemed  debat 
ing  the  expediency  of  making  some  revelation ;  and,  encountering 
one  of  her  perplexed  and  scrutinizing  glances,  the  doctor  suiileJ 
and  said,  gravely,— 

"  I  believe  I  understand  your  hesitancy ;  but  I  assure  you  i 
should  never  forfeit  any  trust  you  might  repose  in  me.  You 
have  some  cause  of  serious  annoyance,  entirely  irrespective  of 
tuy  ward,  and  I  may  be  instrumental  in  removing  it." 

"Thank  you,  Dr.  Grey.  For  some,  days  I  have  been  can 
vassing  the  propriety  of  asking  your  advice  and  assistance  ;  and 
my  reluctance  arose  not  from  waait  of  confidence  in  you,  but 
from  dread  of  the  pain  it  would  necessarily  inllict  upon  me, 
to  recur  to  events  long  buried.  It  is  not  essential,  however, 
that  I  should  weary  you  with  the  minutiae  of  circumstances 
which  many  years  ago  smothered  the  sunshine  in  my  life,  and 
left  me  in  darkness,  a  lonely  and  joyless  woman.  I  have 
resided  here  long  enough  to  learn  the  noble  generosity  of  your 
character,  and  to  you,  as  a  true  Christian  gentleman,  I  come  for 
aid,  —  premising  only  that  what  I  am  about  to  say  is  strictly 
confidential." 

"  As  such,  I  shall  ever  regard  it ;  but  if  1  am  to  become  your 
coadjutor  in  any  matter,  let  me  request  that  nothing  be  kept 
secret,  for  only  entire  frankness  should  exist  between  those  who 
have  a  common  aim." 

A  painful  flush  tinged  her  cheek,  and  the  fair,  thin  face,  grew 
indescribably  mournful,  as  she  clasped  her  hands  firmly  over 
his  arm. 

'*  Dr.  Grey,  when  unscrupulous  men  or  women  deliberately 
stab  the  happiness  of  a  fellow-creature,  they  have  no  wounded 
sensibilities,  no  haunting  compunction,  —  and  if  remorse  final! « 
overtakes,  it  finds  them  well-nigh  callous  and  indurated;  but 
*TOQ  to  that  innocent  being  who  is  the  unintentional  ar:-j 
unconscious  asent  for  the  ruin  of  those  shn  loves.  1  ran  DO' 
remember  the  time  when  I  did  not  love  the  only  man  for  whom 
I  ever  entertained  any  affection.  He  was  the  playmate  of  my 
earliest  years, — the  betrothed  of  my  young  maidenhood, — and 
just  before  my  poor  father  died,  he  joined  our  hands  and  left 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  405 

his  blessing  on  my  choice.  Poverty  was  the  only  barrier  to  our 
union,  but  I  took  a  situation  as  teacher,  and  hoarded  my  small 
gains  in  the  hope  of  aiding  my  lover,  who  went  abroad  with 
a  wealthy  uncle,  and  compJOueu  ms  education  in  Germany.  I 
knew  that  Maiirice  had  coivtracted  very  extravagant  and  self- 
'lululgent  habits,  —  but  in  the  court  of  love  is  there  any  'high 
"rime  '  or  misdemeanor  for  which  a  woman's  heart  will  condemn 
Lcr  idol  ?  Nay,  nay ;  she  "fill  plead  his  defence  against  the 
ntera  evidence  of  her  ow&.  incorruptible  reason ;  aiid;  if  need 
be,  share  his  punishment,  —  die  in  his  stead.  I  denied  ruyseli 
every  luxury,  and  jealously  husbanded  my  small  salary,  antici 
pating  the  happy  hour  when  we  might  invest  it  in  furniture  for 
our  little  home ;  and,  indeed,  in  those  blessed  days  of  hope,  it 
seemed  no  hardship, — 

'And  joy  was  duty,  and  love  was  law.' 

From  time  to  time  our  marriage  was  deferred,  but  I  well 
knew  I  was  beloved,  and  so  I  waited  patiently,  until  fortune 
should  smile  upon  me.  In  the  interim  I  became  warmly 
attached  to  a  young  girl  in  the  school  where  I  taught,  and 
whose  affection  for  me  was  enthusiastic  and  ardent.  Evelyn 
was  an  orphan,  and  the  heiress  of  enormous  wealth,  which 
she  seemed  resolved  to  share  with  me ;  and,  more  than  once,  I 
was  tempted  to  acquaint  her  with  the  obstacle  that  debarred 
rue  from  happiness.  Ah  !  if  I  had  only  confided  in  her,  and 
trusted  her  faithful  love,  how  much  wretchedness  "would  have 
been  averted !  L'ut  she  appeared  to  me  such  an  impulsive 
child  that  I  shrank  from  unburdening  my  heart  to  her,  while 
ehe  acquainted  me  with  every  thought  and  aim  of  her  pure, 
guileless  life.  She  was  singularly,  almost  idolatrcrasly  fond  of 
oip,  and  I  loved  her  very  sincerely,  for  her  character  was 
eertai)ily  the  most  admirable  I  have  ever  met. 

'*'  At  vacation.  \ve  parted  for  three  months,  and  I  hurried  to 
viiect.  my  lover,  who  had  promised  to  join  me  in  Vermont, 
v--hero  IT  7  mother  had  gone  to  recruit  her  failing  health.  For 
tbo  ii:.:,t  lima  Maurice  proved  recreant,  and  wrote  that  impera 
tive  !n»u.uess  detained  him  in  New  York.  Did  I  doubt  him. 


406  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

even  then?  Not  in  ihe  least;  but  endeavorei  oy  cheerfvu 
letters  to  show  him  how  patiently  I  could  bear  the  separation 
that  might  result  in  pecuniary  advantage  to  him.  My  mothci 
looked  anxious,  and  foreboded  ill;  but  1  laughed  at  her  mis 
givings,  and  proudly  silencad  her  warning  voice.  In  the  tnidtv- 
of  my  blissful  dream  came  a  lengthy  telegraphic  dispatch  froir 
sry  young  girl-friend  Evelyn,  inviting  me  to  hasten  to  Ne^ 
York,  and  accompany  her  on  a  bridal  tour  through  Europe 
In  a  brief  and  almost  incoherent  note,  subsequently  received. 
she  accidentally  omitted  the  name  of  her  future  husband,  and 
designated  him  as  'my  prince,'  'my  king,'  'my  liege  lover.' 
The  same  mail  brought  me  a  long  and  exceedingly  tender  letter 
from  my  own  betrothed,  informing  me  that  at  the  expiration 
of  ten  days  he  would  certainly  be  with  me  to  arrange  for  an 
immediate  consummation  of  our  engagement.  A  railroad  acci 
dent  delayed  me  twenty-four  hour.s,  and  1  did  not  reach  New 
York  xmtil  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  my  friend  was 
married.  The  ceremony  took  place  at  ten  o'clock,  and  when  I 
arrived,  Evelyn  was  already  in  the  hands  of  tin-,  hair-dresser. 
I  was  hurried  into  the  room  prepared  for  me,  and  while  waiting 
for  my  trunk,  noticed  a  basket  containing  some  of  the  wedding 

*  *  O  O 

cards.  I  picked  up  one,  and  you  can  perhaps  imagine  my 
emotions,  when  I  saw  that  my  own  lover  was  the  betrothed  of 
iny  friend.  Dr.  Grey,  eight  miserable  years  have  gone  wearily 
over  my  head  since  then,  but  now,  in.  the  dead  of  night,  if  I 
shut  my  eye?,  I  see  staring  at  me,  like  the  ray  less,  glazed  orba 
of  tho  dead,  that  silver-edged  wedding  card,  bearing  in  silver 
etters — Maurice  Carlyle,  Evelyn  Fie  welly  n.  Oli,  blacker  than 
ten  thousand  death-warrants !  for  all  the  hopes  of  a  lifetime 
went  down  before  it.  Every  ray  of  earthly  light  was  ey.tiu- 
guislied  in  a  night  of  woe  that  can  have  no  dawn,  urtil  the 
day-star  of  eternity  shimmers  on  its  gloom." 

She  shuddered  convulsively,  and  the  agonized  expression  of 
her  face  was  so  painful  to  behold  that  her  companion  averted 
his  bead. 

"  I  was  alone  with  my  misery,  and  so  overwhelming  was  the 
shock  that  I  fainted.  When  the  hair-dresser  came  to  offer  iies 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  1'AJiT.  40? 

cervices,  bhe  found  m<^  iyirg  insensible  OIL  the  carpet,  .'lovr 
bitterly,  how  unavailing!}' ,  have  I  reproi.  :hed  myself  for  my 
failure  to  hasten  to  Evelyn,  even  then,  and  diviuge  all.  But 
with  returning  consciousness  came  womanly  pride,  and  I  re 
solved  to  hide  the  anguish  for  whiv.li  I  knew  there  was  no  cure. 
AH  rnon  as  1  wa«  dressed,  we  were  summoned  down  stairs  t« 
the  remainder  of  the  biidal  party,  and  there  1  saw  thss 
ivhom  1  expected  to  call  niy  husband  talking  gayly  with 
his  attendants. 

"  Evelyn  impetuously  presented  me  as  her  '  dearest  friend,' 
and,  without  raising  his  eyes,  he  bowed  profoundly  and  turned 
away.  How  I  endured  all  I  was  called  to  witness  that  morning, 
I  know  not ;  but  my  strength  seemed  superhuman.  Tho  cere 
mony  was  performed  in  church,  and  after  our  return  to  the 
house,  Mr.  Carlyle  asserted  and  claimed  the  right  to  kiss  the 
bridesmaids.  There  were  four,  ami  I  was  the  last  whom  he 
approached.  I  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of  the  window-cur 
tain,  which  I  had  clutched  for  support,  and,  as  he.  cauie  close  to 
me,  our  eyes  met  for  the  first  time  that  day,  and  I  can  never, 
uover  forgot  the  pleading  mournfulness,  the  passionate  tender 
ness,  the  despair,  that  filled  his.  I  waved  him  from  me,  but 
he  seized  my  hand,  and  pressed  his  hot  lips  lingering!}'  to 
mini:.  Then  he  whispered,  'My  only  love,  my  own  Edith,  do 
not  judge  till  you  hear  your  wretched  Maurice.  Meet  me  in 
the  hot-house  when  Evelyn  goes  to  change  her  dress,  and  1  will 
expl&iu.  this  awful,  this  accursed  necessity.'  A  few  momenta 
later  he  stood  with  his  bride  at  the  head  of  the  table  in  tlw 
bieakfast-room,  while  I  was  placed  close  to  Evelyn,  and  th* 
mirror  opposite  reflected  the  group.  I  know  now  it  was  sinful, 
but,  oh!  how  could  1  help  it?  As  I  looked  at  the  reflection  in 
the  glass,  ami  compared  my  face  with  that  of  the  bride,  I  f<:lt 
my  poor  wicked  heart  throb  with  triumph  at  the  thought  that 
my  superior  beauty  could  not  soon  be  forgotten,  —  that,  tl  ough 
J:er  husband,  he  was  still  my  lover.  Dr.  Grey,  dc  not  despise 
me  for  my  weakness,  as  I  should  have  despise*!  him  for  his 
perfidy;  and  remember  that  a  woman  can  not  in  a  me  meat 
allegiance  to  a  man  who  is  the  on  *  love  of  her  lifa 


408  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

They  forced  me  to  drink  some  wine  that  fired  my  irain  and 
made  me  reckless,  and  an  hour  after,  when  Maurice  came  up 
and  offered  his  arm,  inviting  me  to  promenade  for  a  few  min 
utes  in  the  hot-house,  I  yielded  and  accompanied  him.  He 
told  me  a  tale  of  dishonorable  financial  transactions,  into  which 
a<J  had  been  betrayed  solely  by  the  hope  of  obtaining  money 
that  would  enable  him  to  hasten  our  union;  but  the  uttei 
failure  of  the  scheme  threatened  him  with  disgrace,  possibly 
irith  imprisonment,  and  the  only  mode  of  preserving  his  name 
from  infamy,  was  to  possess  himself  of  Evelyn's  large  fortune. 
Just  as  he  clasped  me  in  his  arms,  and  vehemently  declared  his 
deathless  affection  for  me,  —  his  contempt  and  hatred  of  his 
poor  childish  bride,  —  I  heard  a  strange  sound  that  was  neither 
a  wail  nor  a  laugh,  a  sound  unlike  any  other  that  ever  smote 
my  ears,  and  looking  up,  I  saw  Evelyn  standing  before  us." 

Miss  Dexter  groaned  aloud,  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hand. 

"  Oli,  ray  God  !  help  mo  to  shut  out  that  horrible  vision  !  If 
I  could  forget  that  distorted,  deathlike  face,  with  livid  lips 
writhing  :;way  from  the  gleaming  teeth,  and  dospeiate,  wide 
eyes,  glaring  like  globes  of  name  !  She  looked  twenty  years 
older,  and  from  her  clenched  hands,  —  her  beautiful,  exquisite 
hands,  —  that  were  wont  to  caress  me  so  tenderly,  the  blood 
was  dripping  down  on  her  lace  veil  and  her  white  velvet  bridal 
dress.  How  much  she  heard  I  know  not,  for  I  never  saw  her 
again.  I  swooned  in  Maurice's  arms,  and  was  carried  to  my 
own  room ;  and  when  I  finally  groped  my  way  to  Evelyn'a 
apartment,  they  told  me  she  had  been  gone  two  hours,  —  had 
sailed  for  Europe,  leaving  her  husband  in  New  Y"ork.  What 
passed  in  her  farewell  interview  v.ith  him  none  but  he  ancl  her 
lawyer  knew ;  but  they  separated  there  on  condition  that  his 
•lebts  were  cancelled.  She  went  abroad  with  a  faithful  old 
Scotch  woman  who  had  been  her  nurse,  and  hex  husband  told 
the  world  she  was  a  maniac." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  so  ?  Did  you  believe  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Dr. 
Grey,  with  a  degree  of  vehemence  that  startled  the  governess. 

"  I  hare  never  seen  Maurice  Carlyle  since  that  awful  Lour  i* 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  40'J 

the  hot-house.  He  came  repeatedly  to  7ny  homo.  1  at  1  .  i-'oiseJ 
to  meet  him,  and  dozens  of  his  letters  have  been  returned  un 
opened.  Once,  while  I  was  absent,  he  obtained  an  interview 
with  niy  mother,  and  besought  her  intercession  in  his  behalf, 
pleading  for  my  pardon,  and  assuring  her  that,  as  his  wife  was 
hopelessly  insane,  he  would  apply  for  a  divorce,  and  then  clain 
ike  hand  of  the  only  woman  he  had  ever  loved.  I  dreaded  thf. 
Hfect  upon  Evelyn,  and  had  no  means  of  ascertaining  her  real 
condition.  Soon  after,  I  lost  my  mother,  whose  death  was 
hastened  by  grief  and  humiliation;  and,  when  I  had  laid  her 
down  beside  my  father,  1  went  in  search  of  Evelyn.  Several 
times  I  had  attempted  to  communicate  with  her,  and  with  Elsie, 
the  nurse,  but  my  letters  always  came  back  unopened,  and  bear 
ing  the  London  stamp.  Having  been  informed  that  she  was  in  an 
insane  asylum  in  England,  I  took  the  money  that  had  been  so 
carefully  hoarded  for  a  different  purpose  and  went  to  Loudoii. 
One  by  one,  I  .searched  all  the  asylums  in  the  United  Kingdom, 
and  finding  no  trace  of  her,  came  back  to  America.  Finally,  on 
the  death-bed  of  Mr.  Clayton,  her  lawyer,  who  understood  my 
great  anxiety  to  discover  her,  I  was  told  in  strict  conlidence 
that  she  was  perfectly  sane,  —  had  never  been  otherwise,  —  but 
preferred  that  the  false  report  in  circulation  should  not  bo  cor 
rected,  since  her  husband  had  set  it  in  motion.  1  h-arned  that 
site  was  well  and  pleasantly  located  somewhere  in  the  Kast,  but 
wonld  never  see  the  faces  of  either  friends  or  foes,  and  abso 
lutely  refused  all  intercourse  with  her  race.  From  one  of  her 
'.ettcra  (which,  a  moment  after,  lie  burned  in  the  grate)  Mr. 
C'luyton  read  me  a  paragraph:  ''The  <jr<',itlr,xt  wvry  yo<t,  can 
i\.on)  rue  is  to  allow  ttic,  to  j'ort/e.t.  Henceforth  mention  no  inori'& 
the.  names  of  am/  T  fiver  kiitiwj  nn<l  lei  silence,  like  a  pa/I,  shroud 
a!L  the  past  of  VasJiti."1  I  to  died  next  day,  and  since  then  — 

The  sad,  sweet  voice,  which  for  some  moments  had  been 
growing  more  and  more  unsteady,  here  sank  into  a  sob,  and  the 
governess  wept  freely,  while  her  whole  frame  shook  with  the 
violence  of  long-pent  anguish,  that  now  defied  control. 

"  Oh,  if  T  could  find  her  !     If  I  coxild  go  to  her  and  tell  her 
all,  and  exonerate  myself!      If  I  could  show  her  that  he 
35 


ftlC  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

mine  always,  —  mine  long  before  she  ever  saw  him,  —  then  sLt> 
would  not  think  so  harshly  of  me.  I  know  not  what  explana 
tion  Maurice  gave  her,  nor  how  much  of  our  conversation  she 
overheard;  and  I  can  not  live  contentedly,  —  oh  !  I  can  nofc  die 
in  peace  till  1  see  my  poor  crushed  darling,  and  hear  from  her 
Eps  the  assurance  that  she  does  not  hold  me  responsible  for  her 
wretchedness.  Dr.  Grey,  I  love  her  with  a  pitying  tenderness 
that  transcends  all  power  of  expression.  Perhaps  if  Maurioe 
had  ever  loved  her,  I  could  not  feel  as  I  do  towards  her ;  for  a 
woman's  nature  tolerates  no  rival  in  the  affection  of  her  lover, 
and,  unprincipled  as  mine  proved  in  other  respects,  I  know  that 
his  neart  was  always  unswervingly  my  own.  My  dear,  noble 
Evelyn  !  My  pure,  loving  little  darling  !  All !  I  have  wearied 
heaven  with  prayers  that  God  would  give  her  back  to  my 
arms." 

Unable  to  conceal  the  emotion  he  was  unwilling  she  should 
witness,  Dr.  Grey  disengaged  his  arm  and  walked  away,  striving 
to  regain  his  usual  composiire. 

Did  the  governess  suspect  the  proximity  of  her  long-lost 
friend?  If  she  claimed  his  assistance  in  prosecuting  her  search, 
what  course  would  duty  dictate  ? 

Retracing  his  steps,  he  found  that  she  had  seated  herself  on 
a  bench  near  one  of  the  tallest  lilacs,  and  having  thrown  aside 
her  quilted  hood  of  scarlet  silk,  her  care-worn  countenance  was 
fully  exposed. 

She  was  gazing  very  intently  at  some  object  in  her  hand, 
tvliich  she  bent  over  and  kissed  several  times,  and  did  not  per 
ceive  his  approach  until  he  stood  beside  her 

"  Dr.  Grey,  I  believe  my  prayer  has  been  heard,  and  that  at 
last  1  have  discovered  a  clew  to  the  retreat  of  my  lost  Evelyn. 
Last  week  I  went  to  a  jewelry  store  in  town,  to  buy  a  locket 
which  I  intended  as  a  birthday  gift  for  Muriel.  Several  cus 
tomers  had  preceded  me,  and  while  waiting,  my  attention  wag 
attracted  towards  one  of  the  workmen  who  uttered  an  impatient 
ejaculation  and  dashed  uown  some  article  upon  which  he  was 
at  work.  As  it  fell,  I  saw  that  it  was  an  oval  ivory  miuiavire, 
original! j"  surrounied  with  very  large  handsome  pearls,  th« 


UNTIL  .DEATH    !'$  DO  PALiT.  41 » 

portion  of  which  the  jeweller  had  remoAta  aai  placed 
in  H  small  glass  bowl  that  stood  near  iiim.  1  leaned  down  to 
examine  tlie  miniature,  and  though  the  paint  was  blurred  and 
faded,  it  was  impossible  to  mistake  the  likeness,  and  you  cannot 
realize  the  thrill  that  ra.n  along  my  nerves  as  I  recognized  the 
portrait  of  Evelyn.  So  great  was  my  astonishment  and  deliglu 
Jli.it  I  mus:  have  cried  out,  for  the  people  in  the  store  all  turiifXi 
and  stared  at  rne,  and  when  [  snatched  the  piece  of  ivoiy  from 
the  work-table,  the  man  looked  at  me  in  amazement.  Terr 
incoherently  I  demanded  where  and  how  he  obtained  it,  and, 
beckoning  to  the  proprietor,  he  said,  'Just  as  I  told  you;  thii 
has  turned  out  stolen  property.'  Then  he  opened  a  drawer  ana 
took  from  it  a  similar  oval  slab  of  ivory,  and  when  I  looked  ai 
it  and  saw  Maurice's  handsome  face,  my  brain  reeled,  and  1  grew 
so  dizzy  1  almost  fell.  '  Madam,  do  you  know  these  portraits?  ' 
asked  the  proprietor. 

"  I  told  him  that  I  did,  —  that  1  had  ^een  these  jewelled  mini 
atures  eight  years  before  on  the  dresaing-table  of  a  bride,  and  I 
implored  him  to  tell  me  hov,r  they  came  into  his  possession. 
He  fitted  them  into  a  dingy,  worn  case,  which  seemed,  to  have 
been  composed  of  purple  velvet,  and  informed  me  that  he  pur 
chased  the  whole  from  ;:n  Irish  lad,  who  asserted  that  lie  picked 
it  up  on  the  beach,  where  it  had  evidently  drifted  in  a  high 
tide.  On  examination,  ho  found  that  ihe  case  had  indeed  beer* 
saturated  with  sea-water,  but  the  pearls  were  in  such  a  remark 
able  stale  of  preservation  that  ho  doubted  the  lad's  statement, 
lie  had  bought  the  miniatures  in  order  to  .secure  the  pearls, 
which  he  assured  me  were  unusually  i;i;',>,  and  to  satisfy  1  iini-elf 
concerning  the  affair  had  advertised  tsvo  ivory  miniature  a,  and 
invited  the  owners  to  come  forward  and  prove  property.  A.fter 
the  expiration  of  a  week,  he,  discontinued  the  notice,  and  im:i'Jj' 
or.Icr&d  the  pearls  remo\ed  front  their  gold  frame:;.  AVhen  i: 
'•sad  given  him  the  names  of  the  originals,  he  consented  that  .1 
rJicv.Iu.  takj  the  portraits  which  were  now  worthless  to  him,  a?i.u 
£avo  me  ::lso  the  name,  of  the.  boy.  Ic  was  noi  until  tv.o  dayy 
afterward  that  I  succeeded  in  fir.dirig  Thomas  Donovan,  a  lad 
about  fourteen  years  old,  whose  mother  Pho  be  is  a  laundress, 


412  UNTIL  DEATH  U8  DO  PART. 

*nd  does  up  ^aces  and  fine  muslius.  When  I  called  and  stated 
the  object  of  my  visit  he  seemed  much  confused,  but  sullenly 
repeated  the  assertion  made  to  the  jeweller.  Yesterday  I  wen^ 
again  and  had  a  long  conversation  with  his  mother,  who  must 
be  an  honest  soul,  foi  she  assured  me  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
Blatter,  and  would  investigate  it  immediately.  The  boy  waa 
absent,  but  she  promised  either  to  send  him  here  this  morning 
OT  come  in  person,  to  acquaint  me  with  the  result.  I  oil'cred  a 
reward  if  he  would  confess  where  he  obtained  them ;  and  if  ha 
proved  obstinate,  threatened  to  have  him  arrested.  Now,  J)r. 
Grey,  you  can  understand  why  I  hare  so  tediously  made  a  full 
revelation  of  my  past,  for  I  wish  to  enlist  your  sympathy  and 
claim  your  aid  in  my  search  for  my  loiig-lost  friend.  These 
portraits  inadequately  represent  the  fascina-ting  beauty  of  one 
of  the  originals,  and  the  sweetness  and  almost  angelic  purity  oi 
the  other." 

She  held  up  the  somewhat  defaced  and  faded  miniatures  for 
the  inspection  of  her  companion,  but  scarcely  glancing  at  tnetu, 
he  said,  abstractedly,  — 

"You  are  sure  they  belonged  to  Mrs.  Carlyle?  " 

"Yes.  As  she  put  on  her  diamonds  just  before  going  down 
stairs  she  showed  me  the  portraits  in  her  jewelry  casket,  where 
she  had  also  placed  a  similar  one  of  myself.  Ah !  at  this  in 
stant  I  seem  to  see  her  beaming  face,  as  she  bent  down,  and 
sweeping  her  veil  aside,  kissed  my  picture  and  Maxirice's." 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  she  is  in  America?  " 

"No;  I  fear  she  is  dead,  and  tl.at  these  were  stolen  fioin  the 
old  nurse.  Who  is  that  yonder?  Ah,  yes,  —  Phoobe  Donovan. 
Now  I  shall  hear  the  truth." 

Forgetting  her  shawl,  and  unmindful  of  the  fbct  that  the  sun 
was  streaming  full  on  her  head  and  face,  she  hurried  to  meet 
ihe  woman  who  was  ascending  the  avenue,  and  very  soon  they 
entered  the  house. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  ere  Phcebe  came  out,  and  walked 
rapidly  away ;  and,  unwilling  to  prolong  his  suspense,  Dr.  Grey 
went  in  search  of  the  governess. 

He  met  her  in  the  hall,  and  saw  that  she  was  equipped  for  * 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  413 

walk.  Her  cheeks  were  scarlet,  her  brown  eves  ad  aglow  rntis 
eager  expectation,  and  her  lips  twitched,  as  she  exclaimed,— 

"Oh,  doctor,  I  hope  everytliing;  for  I.  leam  that  the  pictuas 
were  found  on  the  lawn  at  'Solitude,'  where  I'lioubr  was  onco 
hired  as  cook ;  and  she  recognized  the  case  as  the  same  she  ha-i 
one  day  seen  on  a  writing-desk  in  the  parlor.  The  hoy  confess^' 
that  he  picked  it  up  from  the  grass,  and,  after  taking  out  iiu 
contents,  soaked,  the  case  in  a  bucket  of  salt-water.  Phiebe  sajo 
the  pictures  belong  to  Mrs.  Gerome,  the  gray-headed  we  mac 
who  owns  that  place  on  the  beach,  and  I  am  almjst  tempted  to 
believe  she  is  Elsie,  who  may  have  married  again.  At  all 
ovents,  I  shall  soon  know  where  she  obtained  the  portraits." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  '  Solitude  '  ?  " 

"Yes,  immediately.  I  can  not  rest  till  I  have  learned  all. 
God  grant  I  may  not  be  mocked  in  my  hopes." 

The  unwonted  excitement  had  kindled  a  strange  beauty  in 
the  whiloni  passive  face,  and  Dr.  Grey  could  for  the  first  time 
realize  how  lovely  she  must  have  been  in  the  happy  days  of 
eld. 

"Miss  Dexter,  Mrs.  Gerome  will  not  receive  you.  She  sees 
no  visitors,  not  even  ministers  of  the  gospel." 

"  She  must  — she  shall  —  admit  me ;  for  I  will  assure  her  that 
life  and  death  hjmg  upon  it." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  If  Evelyn  is  alive,  and  I  can  discover  her  retreat,  I  will 
urge  her  to  go  to  her  husband,  who  needs  her  care.  You  know 
Mrs.  Gerome,  —  she  is  one  of  your  patients.  Come  with  me, 
and  prevail  upon  her  to  receive  me." 

In  her  eagerness  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  even  then 
noticed  and  wondered  at  the  crimson  that  suddenly  leaped  intc 
his  olive  face. 

"Some  day  I  will  give  you  good  reasons  for  refusing  your 

equest,  which  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  grant.     If  you  are 

resolved  to  hazard  the  visit,  I  will  take  you  in  my  buggy   aa 

fki  as  the  gate  at  'Solitude,'  and  when  you  return  will  confer 

with  you  concerning  the  result.     Just  now,  I  can  promise  ut 

more." 

35* 


414  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

An  expression  of  disappointment  clouded  her  brow. 

"  I  had  hoped  that  you  would  sympathize  with  and  ye  more 
interested  in  my  great  sorrow." 

"  Miss  Dexter,  my  interest  is  more  profound,  more  intense, 
tLan  you  can  imagine,  but  at  this  juncture  circumstances  forbii? 
Its  expression.  My  buggy  is  at  the  door." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

VEN  at  mid-day  the  grounds  around  "Solitude"  were 
sombre  and  chill,  for  across  the  sky  the  winds  had 
woven  a  thin,  vapory  veil,  whose  cloud-meshes  seemed 
(ine  as  lace-work ;  and  through  this  gilded  netting  the  6un 
looked  hazy,  the  light  wan  and  yellow,  and  rifled  of  its  custom 
ary  noon  glitter. 

Following  one  of  the  serpentine  walks,  the  governess  was 
approaching  the  house,  when  her  attention  was  attracted  by  the 
gleaming  surface  of  a  tomb,  and  she  turned  towards  the  pyra 
midal  deodars  that  were  swaying  slowly  in  the  breeze,  — 

"Warming1  their  heads  in  the  sun, 
Checkering  the  grass  with  their  shade," 

»nd  photographing  fringy  images  on  the  shining  maiule. 

A  broad  circle  of  violets,  blue  with  bloom,  surrounded  * 
sexangular  temple,  whose  dome  was  terminated  by  a  mural 
crown  and  surmounted  by  a  cross.  The  beautifully  polished 
pillars  were  fluted,  and  wreathed  with  carved  ivy  that  wound 
ap  to  the  richly-sculptured  cornices,  where  poppies  clustered 
»ad  tossed  their  leaves  along  the  architrave ;  and,  in  the  centre, 
visible  through  all  the  arches,  rose  an  akar,  bearing  two  angels 
with  fingers  on  their  lips,  who  guarded  an  exquisite  'irn  that 
was  inscribed  "cor  cordiwm." 

Beneath  the  eastern  arch,  that  directly  fronted  the  sea,  wen? 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  4U 

two  steps  leading  into  the  mausoleum,  and,  as  Miss  Dextei- 
Btood  within,  she  saw  that  the  iloor  was  arranged  with  slabs  for 
only  two  tombs  close  to  the  altar,  one  side  of  which  bore  In 
golden  tracery,  — • 

".Elsie  Maclean,  f>8.     Amiens  simicorum." 

Around  the  base  of  the  urn  were  scattered  some  fresh  ger» 
iaiuiii-leaves,  and  very  near  it  stood  a  tall,  slender,  Venetian 
glass  v.'^se  filled  with  odorous  flowers,  which  had  evidently 
been  gathered  and  arranged  that  day. 

For  whom  had  the  remaining  slab  and  opposite  side  of  ths 
altar  been  reserved? 

The  heart  of  the  governess  seemed  for  a  moment  to  forget  its 
functions,  then  a  vague  hope  made  it  throb  fiercely;  and  rapidly 
the  anxious  woman  directed  her  steps  towards  the  house,  that 
seemed  as  silent  as  the  grave  behind  her. 

The  hall  door  had  swung  partially  open,  and,  dreading  that 
she  inisrht  be  refused  admittance  if  she  rang  the  bell,  she  availed 

O  f 

herself  of  the  lucky  accident  (which  in  Elsie's  lifetime  never 
happened),  and  entered  unchallenged  and  unobserved. 

From  the  parlor  issued  a  rather  monotonous  and  suppressed 
sound,  as  of  some  one  reading  aloud,  and,  advancing  a  fe^ 
steps,  the  governess  stood  inside  the  threshold. 

The  curtains  of  the  south  window  were  looped  back,  the  blinds 
thrown  open,  and  the  sickly  sunshine  poiired  in,  lighting  the 
easel,  before  which  the  mistress  of  the  house  had  drawn  an 
atfcoman  and  seated  herself. 

To-daj,  an  air  of  unwonted  negligence  marked  her  appear. 
«j?ce,  usually  distinguished  by  extraordinary  care  and  taste 

Her  white  merino  roba  de  c/tambre  was  partially  «ngTr»led, 
and  the  blue  tassels  trailed  on  the  carpet;  her  luxuriant  hull 
instead  of  being  braided  and  classically  coiled,  was  gathered  in 
three  or  four  large  heavy  loops,  and  fastened  rather  loosely  by 
the  massive  silver  comb  that  allowed  one  long  tress  to  straggle 
across  her  shoulder,  while  the  folds  in  front  slipped  low  or,  hei 
temples  and  forehead. 


416  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAHT. 

Intently  contemplating  her  work,  she  leaned  her  cheek  or 
her  hand,  and  only  the  profile  was  visible  from  the  door,  as  aha 
repeated,  in  a  subdued  tone,  — 

"  I  stanch  with  ice  ray  burning  breast, 

With  silence  balm  my  whirling  brain, 
O  Brandon !  to  this  hour  of  rest, 
That  Joppan  leper's  ease  was  pain." 

The  easel  held  the  largest  of  many  pictures,  upon  which  she 
had  lavished  time  and  study,  and  her  present  work  was  a  wide 
stretch  of  mid-ocean,  lighted  by  innumerable  stars,  and  a  round 
glittering  polar  moon  that  swung  mid-heaven  like  a  globe  of 
silver,  and  shed  a  ghostly  lustre  on  the  raging,  ragged  waves, 
above  which  an  Aurora  Borealis  lifted  its  gleaming  arch  of 
mysterious  white  fires. 

On  the  flowery  shore  of  a  tropic  isle,  under  clustering  boughs 
of  lime  and  citron,  knelt  the  venerable  figure  of  Saint  Brandan, 
—  and  upon  a  towering,  jagged  iceberg,  whose  crystal  cliffs  and 
diamond  peaks  glittered  with  the  ghastly  radiance  reflected  from 
arctic  moon  and  boreal  flames,  lay  Judas,  pressing  his  hot  palias 
and  burning  breast  to  the  frigid  bosom  of  his  sailing  sapphire 
berg. 

No  hideous,  scowling,  red-haired  arch-apostate  was  tliis  painted 
Iscariot, — but  a  handsome  man,  whose  features  were  startlingly 
like  those  in  the  ivory  miniature. 

It  was  a  wild,  dreary,  mournful  picture,  suggestive  of  melan 
choly  mediaeval  myths,  and  most  abnormal  phantasms;  and 
would  more  appropriately  have  draped  the  walls  of  some  flagel 
lating  ascetic's  cell,  than  the  luxuriously  furnished  room  that 
now  contained  it. 

Bending  forward  to  deepen  the  dark  circles  which  suffering 
end  remorse  had  worn  beneath  the  brilliant  eyes  of  the  apostle, 
the  lonely  artist  added  another  verse  to  her  quotation,- — 

"Once  every  year,  when  carols  wake 

On  earth  the  Christmas  night's  repose, 
Ariaingr  from  the  sinner's  lake 

I  journey  to  these  healing  snows." 


UNTIL  DEATII   UK  DO  PA11T.  417 

The  motion  loosened  a  delicate  white  lily  pinned  at  her  throat, 
and  it  fell  upon  the  palette,  sullying  its  purity  with  the  dark 
paint  to  which  its  petals  clung.  She  removed  it,  looked  at  ita 
defaced  loveliness,  and  tossed  it  aside,  saying  moodily, — 

"Typical  of  cur  souls,  originally  dowered  with  a  stainl(W; 
*cd  well- nigh  perfect  holinese,  but  drooping  dust- ward  con  tin: 
fcaliy,  and  once  tainted  by  the  fall, — hugging  the  corruption  tks.1, 
ruined  it." 

As  the  governess  looked  and  listened,  a  half-perplexed,  halt 
frightened  expression  passed  over  her  countenance,  and  at  length 
Bhe  advanced  to  the  arch,  and  said,  trembling! y, — 

"  Can  I  have  a  few  moments'  conversation  with  Mrs.  Gerome, 
on  important  business  ?  " 

"My  God!  am  I  verily  rnad  at  last?  Because  I  called  up 
Judas,  must  I  also  evoke  the  partner  of  his  crime  ?  " 

With  a  thrilling,  almost  blood-curdling  cry  Mrs.  Gerome  had 
leaped  to  l»r  feet  at  the  sound  of  Miss  Dextcr's  voice,  and, 
dropping  palette  and  brush,  confronted  her  with  a  look  of  horror 
and  hate.  The  quick  and  violent  movement  shook  out  her 
comb,  and  down  came  the  folds  of  hair,  falling  like  a  silver 
cataract  to  her  knees. 

Bewildered  by  memoiies  which  the  face  and  form  recalled, 
the  governess  looked  at  the  shining  white  locks,  and  her  lips 
blanched,  as  she  stammered, — 

"  Are  you  Mrs.  Gerome  ?  " 

Her  scarlet  hood  had  falleu  back,  disclosing  her  wealth  of 
golden  hair ;  and;  gazing  at  her  thin,  but  still  lovely  features, 
rouged  by  a  hectic  glow  that  lent  strange  beauty  to  the  wide, 
brown,  eyes,  Mrs.  Gerome  answered,  huskily, — 

"I  am  the  mistress  of  this  house.  Who  is  the  woman  \vho 
has  the  audacity  to  intrude  upon  my  seclusion,  and  vividly  re 
mind  me  of  one  whose  hated  lineaments  have  cursed  my  men* 
ory  for  years?  Woman,  if  I  believed  she  had  the  effrontery  to 
thrust  herself  into  ray  presence,  I  should  fear  that  at  tint 
instant  I  am  afflicted  with  the  abhorred  sight  of  Edith  Dexter, 
than  whom  a  legion  of  devils  would  be  more  welcome  1  " 

name  fell  liitssingly  from  her  stem  uiouth,  and  when  »h* 


418  UNITL  DEATH  US  DO    ?AtiT. 

shook  back  the  hair  that  drooped  over  her  brow,  the  gray 
globe-like  eyes  glittered  as  polished  blue  steel  under  some  titfu 
light. 

A  }rw,  half-stifled  cry  escaped  the  governess,  and  springing 
forward  she  fell  on  her  knee*  and  grasped  the  white  hands  that 
aad  clutched  each  other. 

"  Evelyn  !  It  must  be  Evelyn  !  despite  this  gray  hair  and 
van,  changed  face !  and  I  could  never  mistake  these  beautiful 
beautiful  hands  —  unlike  any  others  in  the  world!  Evelyn, 
my  lost  darling !  oh,,  I  thank  God  I  have  found  you  before  I 
die!" 

She  covered  the  cold  fingers  with  kisses,  and  pressed  her  face 
to  a  band  of  the  floating  hair ;  but  with  a  gestur?  of  loathing 
Mrs.  Gerome  broke  away,  and  retreated  a  few  steps. 

"  How  dare  you  come  into  my  presence  ?  Goaded  by  a  desire 
to  witness  the  ruin  you  helped  to  accomplish  ?  Your  audacity 
at  least  astounds  me ;  but  fate  decrees  you  the  enjoyment  of  its 
reward.  Lo !  here  I  am !  Behold  the  gray  shadow  of  what 
was  once  a  happy,  confiding  girl !  Behold  in  the  desolate, 
lonely  woman,  who  hides  her  disgrace  under  the  name  of  Agla 
Gerome,  that  bride  of  an  hour,  that  Evelyn  whose  heart  you 
stabbed !  Does  the  wreck  entirely  satisfy  you  ?  What  more 
could  even  fiendish  malevolence  desire?  " 

"  Evelyn,  you  wrong  me.  For  mercy's  sake  do  not  upbraid 
and  taunt  me  so  unjustly  !  " 

In  vain  she  held  out  her  hands  imploringly,  while  tears  rolled 
over  her  crimsoned  cheeks,  and  sobs  impeded  her  utterance. 
if  rs.  Gerome  laughed  bitterly. 

"  What !  I  wrong  you  ?  Have  you  gore  mad,  instead  of 
your  victim?  Miss  Dexter,  you  and  I  can  scarcely  afford  to  deal 
in  moc1*  tragedy,  and  though  you  make  a  pretty  picture  kneeling 
'.litre,  I  have  no  mind  tr  paint  you  yonder,  where  I  put  your 
colleague,  Judas.  Is  it  not  a  good  likeness  of  your  lover,  as  he 
looked  that  memorable  day  when  the  broad  banana-leaves  o^er- 
ahadowed  his  handsome  head  ?  " 

She  rapped  the  canvas  with  her  clenched  b  and,  and  continued, 
in  accents  of  indescribable  scorn, — 


UNTIL  DEATH  U&  DO  P AuT.  419 

"  Do  you  kneel  as  penitent  or  petitioner  V  Yon  come  to 
2rave  my  pardon,  or  my  husband '?  " 

The  governess  had  bowed  her  face  almost  to  the  caqjct,  liii 
e  fragile  flower  borne  down  by  a  sudden  flood;  but  now  sh-3 

;?e,  and,  throwing  her  head  back  proudly,  answered  with  lii&: 
fet  gentle  dignity, — 

'•Of  Mrs.  Gerome  I  crave  nothing.  Of  Evelyn  CarJrle  J 
demand  justice  ;  simply  bare  justice." 

"Justice!  You  are  rash,  Miss  Dexter,  to  challenge  fate, 
for,  were  justice  meted  out,  the  burden  would  prove  more  in 
tolerable  to  you  than  that  King  Stork  whom  Zeus  sent  down  a* 
a  Nemesis  to  quiet  clamorous  frogs.  Justice,  let  m«  tell  you, 
long  ago  fled  from  this  hostile  and  inhospitable  earth  aiiu  took 
refuge  beyond  the  stars,  where,  please  God,  you  and  I  shall  one 
day  confront  her  and  get  our  long-defrauded  dues.  Justice? 
Nay,  nay  !  the  thing  I  recogjor-ce  as  justice  would  crush  you 
utterly,  and  you  should  flee  to  che  Ultinut,  Thule  to  avoid  it. 
I  divine  your  mission.  You  come  as  envoy-extraordinary  from 
rny  honorable  and  chivalric  husband,  to  demand  release  from  the 
bonds  that  doom  me  to  wear  his  name  and  you  to  live  without 
that  spotless  regis  ?  Since  my  fortune  no  longer  percolate? 
through  the  sieve  of  his  pocket,  and  legal  quibbles  can  not  now 
avail  to  wring  thousands  from  my  purse,  he  desires  a  divorce, 
in  order  to  remove  to  your  fair  wrists  the  fetters  which  have 
proved  more  galliug  to  mine  than  those  of  iron." 

"Evelyn,  insult  must  not  be  heaped  upon  injury.  As  God 
hears  me,  I  tell  you  solemnly  that  you  have  seen  your  husband 
since  I  hs,ve.  Upon  Maurice  Carlyle's  face  1  have  never  looked 
since  that  fatal  hour  when  I  last  saw  yours,  ghastly  and  rigid, 
againnt  the  background  of  guava-boughs.  From  that  day  until 
this,  I  have  neither  seen,  nor  spoken,  nor  written  to  him.." 

"  Then  why  are  you  here,  to  torment  me  with  the  sigh  I  of 
/our  face,  which  would  darken  the  precincts  of  heaven,  if  I 
met  it  inside  of  the  gates  of  pearl  ?  " 

"I  have  come  to  exonerate  myself  from  the  aspersions  that 
in  your  frenzy  you  have  cast  upon  me.  Evelyn,  1  am  here  to 
prove  tli at  my  wrongs  are  greater  than  yours,  —  and  if  eitiuw 


42C  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

shoold  crave  pardon,  it  wovld  best  become  you  to  sue  for  it  at 
ray  hands.  But  for  you,  I  should  have  been  a  happy  wife, — 
blessed  with  a  devoted  husband  and  fond  mother;  and  now  in 
nay  loneliness  I  stand  for  vindication  before  her  who  robbed  JE.C 
of  every  earthly  hope,  and  blotted  all  light,  all  verdure,  all 
beauty  from  my  life.  You  had  known  Maurice  Oarlyle  six 
wseks,  when  you  gave  him  your  hand.  I  had  grown  up  at  hi* 
aide,  —  had  loved,  trusted,  prayed,  and  labored  for  him, —  had 
been  bis  promised  wife  for  seven  dreary  years*  of  toil  and  sepa 
ration,  and  was  counting  the  hours  until  the  moment  when  he 
would  lead  me  to  the  altar.  Ah,  Evelyn,— 

A  violent  spell  of  coughing  interrupted  the  governess,  and 
when  it  ended  she  did  not  complete  the  sentence. 

Impatiently  Mrs.  Gerome  motioned  to  her  to  continue,  and, 
turning  her  head  which  had  been  averted,  the  hostess  saw  that 
'ier  guest  was  endeavoring  to  stanch  a  stream  of  blood  that 
trickled  across  her  lips.  Involuntarily  the  former  started  for 
ward  and  drew  an  easy-chair  close  to  the  slender  figure  which 
leaned  for  support  against  the  corner  of  the  pvwo. 

*'  Are  you  ill  ?     Pray  sit  down." 

"  It  is  only  a  hemorrhage  from  iny  lungs,  which  1  have  long 
Uad  reason  to  expect." 

Wearily  she  sank:  into  the  chair,  and  hastily  pouring  a  glass  of 
water  from  a  gilt-starred  crystal  carafe,  standing  on  the  centre- 
table,  Mrs.  Gerome  silently  offered  it.  As  the  governess  drained 
»nd  returned  the  goblet,  a  drop  of  blood  that  stained  the  rinv 
fell  on  the  hand  of  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

Miss  Dexter  attempted  to  remove  it  with  the  end  of  her 
f>laid  shawl,  but  her  companion  drew  back,  and  taking  a  dainty, 
1»erfiimed  handkerchief  from  her  pocket,  shook  out  its  foldu  and 
Baid,  hastily, — 

i  "  It  is  of  no  consequence.  I  see  your  handkerchief  is  alrejv.y 
Jiafcurated ;  wu*  ytm  accept  mine  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  she  laid  it  on  the  lap  of  ths 
visitor,  and  left  the  room. 

Soon  after,  a  servant  brought  in  a  basin  of  water  and  toweJa, 
which  she  placed  on  the  ta,ble,  aud  then,  without  question  or 
comment,  withdrew. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  421 

Some  time  elapsed  before  Mrs.  Gerome  re-entered  the  parlor, 
bearing  a  glass  of  wine  in  her  hand.  Miss  Dexter  had  bathed 
her  face,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  that  the  gray  hair  had  been 
carefully  coiled  and  fastened,  and  the  flowing  merino  belted  t\ 
the  waist ;  but  the  brow  wore  its  heavy  cloud,  and  the  arch  of 
ihe  lip  had  not  unbent. 

"  I  hope  you  are  better.  Permit  me  to  insist  upon  your 
taking  this  wine." 

She  pi  offered  it,  but  the  governess  shook  her  head,  and  tears 
ran  down  her  cheeks,  as  she  said, — 

"  Thank  you,  —  but  I  do  not  require  it ;  indeed  I  could  not 
swallow  it." 

The  hostess  bowed,  and,  placing  the  glass  within  her  reach, 
walked  to  the  window  which  looked  out  on  the  marble  mauso 
lexim,  and  stood  leaning  against  the  cedarn  facing. 

Five,  ten  minutes  passed,  and  the  silence  was  only  broken  by 
the  ticking  of  the  bronze  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Evelyn." 

The  voice  was  so  sweet,  so  thrilling,  so  mournfully  pleadingj 
chat  it  might  have  wooed  even  stone  to  pity;  but  Mrs.  Gerome 
luerely  glanced  over  her  shoulder,  and  said,  frigidly, — 

"  <>. n  I  in  any  way  contribute  to  Miss  Dexter's  comfort? 
\  \\'.\  servants  tell  me  there  is  no  conveyance  waiting  for  vou* 
•  ijfc,  r-ince  you  seem  too  feeble  to  walk  away,  my  carriage  is  at 
/our  service  whenever  you  wish  to  return.  Shall  I  order  it  ?  " 

"No,  1  will  not  trouble  you.  I  can  walk ;  and,  after  a  little 
vvliile,  I  will  go  away  forever.  Evelyn,  do  you  think  nie  utterly 
luvprincipled  ?  " 

A.  moment  passed  before  she  was  answered. 

"  While  you  are  in  my  house,  courtesy  forbids  the  expression 
vf  my  opinion  of  ^oar  character." 

"Oh,  Evelyn,  my  darling!  God  knows  I  have  not  merited 
;.:iis  harshness,  this  cruelty  from  your  dear  hands.  Eight  tedious, 
miserable  years  I  have  searched  and  prayed  for  you, —  have 
clung  to  the  hope  of  finding  you,  of  telling  you  all,  —  of  hearing 
your  precious  lips  utter  those  words  for  which  my  ears  have  BO 
long  ached,  '  Edith,  I  hold  you  guiltless  of  my  wretchedness. 


422  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAH?. 

But  at  last,  when  my  search  is  successful,  to  be  br<vw  beaten, 
derided,  denounced,  insulted,  —  oh,  this  is  bitter  indeed  !  Thi* 
IB  too  hard  to  be  borne  !  " 

Her  anguish  was  uncontrollable,  and  she  sobbed  ilond. 

Across  Mrs.  Gerome's  white  lips  crept  a  quiver,  and  over  hrt 
frozen  features  rose  an  unwonted  flush ;  but  she  did  not  move  * 
muscle,  or  suffer  her  eyes  to  wander  from  the  cross  and  crc\v: 
on  Elsie's  tomb. 

"  Evelyn,  I  believe,  I  hope  (and  may  God  forgive  me  if  I  sin 
In  hoping),  that  I  have  not  many  years,  or  perhaps  even  months 
to  live ;  and  it  would  comfort  me  in  my  dying  hour  to  feel  that 
I  had  laid  before  you  some  facts,  of  which  I  know  you  must  be 
ignorant.  You  have  harshly  and  unjustly  prejudged  me,  —  have 
steeled  yourself  against  me ;  still  I  wish  to  tell  you  some  things 
that  weigh  heavily  upon  my  aching,  desolate  heart.  Will  yor 
allow  me  to  do  so  now  ?  Will  you  hear  me  ?  " 

There  was  evidently  a  struggle  in  the  mind  of  the  motionless 
woman  beside  the  window,  but  it  was  brief,  and  left  no  trace  in 
fhe  cold,  ringing  voice. 

"  I  will  hear  you." 

Slowly  and  impressively  the  governess  began  the  narrative, 
of  which  she  had  given  Dr.  Grey  a  hasty  resume,  and  when  she 
mentioned  the  midnight  labors  in  which  she  had  engaged,  the 
copying  of  legal  documents,  the  sale  of  her  drawings,  the  hoard  - 
ing  of  her  salary  in  order  to  aid  her  mother  and  her  betrothed, 
and  to  remove  the  obstacles  to  her  marriage,  Mrs.  Gerome  sat 
down,  and,  crossing  her  arms  on  the  window-sill,  hid  her  face 
upon  them. 

Unflinchingly  Miss  Dexter  detailed  all  that  occurred  after 
her  arrival  in  New  York ;  and  finally,  approaching  the  window, 
ahe  insisted  that  her  listener  should  peruse  the  last  letter 
received  from  her  lover,  and  containing  the  promise  that  within 
ten  days  he  would  come  to  claim  his  bride.  But  the  lovely 
hand  waved  it  aside,  and  the  proud  voice  exclaimed  impa 
tiently ,  — 

"  I  need  na  additional  proof  of  his  perfidy,  which,  beyond 
wmtroversy,  was  long  ago  established.  Go  on !  go  on  !  " 


UNTIL  DEATH  UK  DO  PART.  422 

Upon  all  that  followed  the  ceremony,  —  the  departure  of  the 
wife,  —  and  her  own  despairing  grief,  the  governess  dwelt 
with  touching  eloquence  and  pathos ;  and,  at  last,  as  she  spoke 
of  her  fruitless  journey  to  England,  —  her  sad  search  through 
the  insane  asylums,  —  Mrs.  Gerome  lifted  her  queenly  head. 
and  bent;  a  piercing  glance  upon  the  speaker. 

Ah!  what  a  hungry,  eager  expression  looked  out  shyly  /roi»: 
uei  whilom  hopeless  eyes,  when,  with  an  imperious  gesture, 
sbe  silenced  her  visitor,  and  asked,— 

"  You  spent  your  hard  earnings,  not  in  trousseau,  or  pre 
parations  for  housekeeping ;  but  hunting  for  me  in  lunatia 
asylums  ?  Suppose  you  had  found  me  in  a  mad-house  ?  " 

"  Then  I  should  have  become  an  inmate  of  the  same  gloomy 
walls ;  and,  while  you  lived,  should  have  shared  with  faithful 
Elsie  the  care  and  charge  of  you.  God  is  my  witness,  I  had 
resolved  to  dedicate  my  remaining  years  to  the  task  of  cheering 
and  guarding  yours.  Oh,  Evelyn !  not  until  we  stand  in  the 
great  Court  of  Heaven  can  you  realize  how  sincerely,  how 
tenderly,  and  unwaveringly,  I  love  you.  My  darling,  how 
can  you  distrust  my  faithful  heart  ?  " 

She  sank  on  her  knees,  and,  throwing  her  arras  around  the 
tall,  slender  form,  looked  with  mournful,  beseeching  tenderness 
at  the  haughty  features  above  her. 

For  a  moment  the  proud,  pale  face  glowed,  —  the  great 
shadowy  eyes  kindled  and  shone  like  wintry  planets  in  some 
crystalline  sky  ;  but  doubt,  murderous,  cynical  donbt^  grappled 
•with  hope,  and  strangled  it. 

"  Edith,  I  wish  I  could  believe  you.  1  am  struggling  des- 
p-ftT-ately  to  lay  hold  of  the  fluttering  garments  of  faith,  but 
j  cannot!  Suspicion  has  walked  hand  in  hand  with  mo  »o 
long  that  I  can  not  shake  off  her  numbing  touch,  and  I  distiiis' 
R.M  human  things,  save  the  dusty  heart  that  moulders  yondti 
ir.  my  old  Elsie's  grave." 

She  pointed  to  the  white  columns  of  the  temple,  and  hep 
Uie  uplifted  fingera  fell  heavily  on  Edith's  shoulder. 

"Go  on.     I   wish    to    learu   whose   treachery   betrayed    tlw 
of  my  retreat." 


424  UNTIL  DEATH  ITS  DO  PART. 

Pressing  her  feverish  lips  to  the  hand  she  admmxl  so  enthusi 
astically,  Miss  Dexter  resumed  her  recital  of  what  had  occurred 
since  her  journey  to  London,  and  finally  ended  it  with  au 
account  of  her  removal  to  '  Grassmere,'  and  of  the  discovery  of 
the  miniatures  that  guided  her  to  '  Solitude.' 

A.  long  pause  followed,  and  a  heavy  sigh,  only  parti&iij 
smothered,  indexed  the  contest  that  raged  under  Mrs.  Gercmfi'» 
calm  exterior. 

"  Edith,  would  you  have  inferred  from  Dr.  Grey's  manner 
that  he  was  not  only  acquainted  with  my  history,  but  yours: 
at  least,  so  far  as  it  intersected  mine  ?  Did  be  furnish  no  hint, 
no  clew,  that  aided  you  in  your  search  ?  " 

"  Nono  whatever.  Oil  the  contrary,  he  appeared  so  preoc 
cupied,  so  abstracted,  that  I  reproached  him  with  indifference 
to  my  troubles.  It  is  not  possible  that  he  knew  all,  while 
I  briefly  summed  up  a  portion  of  the  past." 

"At  that  moment  he  was  thoroughly  cognizant  of  everything 
that  I  could  tell  him.  But,  at  least,  one  honorable,  trustworthy 
man  yet  graces  the  race ;  one  pure,  incorruptible,  and  consistent 
Christian  remains  to  shed  lustre  upon  a  church  that  can  no 
where  boast  his  peer.  I  confided  all  to  Dr.  Grey,  and  he  has 
kept  the  trust.  Ah,  Edith,  if  you  had  only  reposed  the  same 
confidence  in  me,,  during  those  halcyon  days  of  our  early  friend 
ship, —  days  that  seem  to  me  now  as  far  ofF,  as  dim  and  unreal, 
as  those  starry  nights  when  1  lay  in  my  little  crib,  dreaming 
of  that  mother  whose  face  I  never  saw,  whose  smile  is  one 
of  the  surprises  and  blessings  reserved  for  eternity,  —  how  dif 
ferent  my  lot  and  yours  might  have  been !  Why  did  you  no$ 
trust  me  with  your  happy  hopes,  your  lover's  name  and  diffi 
culties?  How  differently  I  would  have  invested  that  fortune, 
which  proved  our  common  ruin,  and  doomed  three  lives  to 
iselessness  and  woe.  To-day  you  might  have  proudly  wore 
the  name  that  I  utterly  detest;  and  I,  the  outcast,  the  wan- 
riorer,  the  tireless,  friendless  waif,  drifting  despairingly  down 
the  tide  of  time,  —  even  I,  the  unloved,  might  have  been,  nos 
a  solitary  cumberor,  not  a  hoxisehold  -ipas, —  but  why  tatnt 


UNTIL  DEA'IH  ITS  DO  PART.  4:25 

the  hideous  Actual  with  a  blessed  and  beautifm   Impossible? 
AJj,  truly,  truly,  — 

1  What  might  have  been,  I  know,  is  not : 

What  must  be,  must  be  borne ; 
Sut  ah  !  what  hath  been  will  not  be  forgot, 
Never,  oh  !  never,  in  the  years  to  follow  1 '  " 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  seemed  pondering  the  past,  and 
mutely  the  governess  prayed  that  hallowed  memories  of  ther 
former  affection  might  soften  her  apparently  petrified  heart. 

Edith  saw  a  great  change-  overspread  the  countenance,  but 
could  not  accurately  interpret  its  import ;  and  her  own  heart 
began  to  beat  the  long-roll. 

The  heavy  black  eyelashes  lying  on  Mrs.  Gerome's  marble 
cheeks  glistened,  trembled,  and  tears  stole  .slowly  across 
her  face.  She  raised  her  hand,  but  dropped  it  in  her  lap, 
uud  frowned  slightly  and  sighed.  Then  she  lifted  it  once  more, 
and  looking  through  the  shining  mist  that  magnified  her  splen 
did  eyes,  she  laid  her  fingers  on  the  golden  head  of  the  kneeling 
woman. 

"You  and  I  have  innocently  wronged  and  ruined  each  other  ; 
you  wil.h  your  beauty,  I  with  my  accursed  gold.  Time  was 
when  at  your  bidding  I  would  have  laid  my  throbbing  heart 
at  your  feet,  provided  T  could  thereby  save  you  one  pang; 
for  I  loved  you  as  women  very  rarely  love  one  another.  But 
now,  lonely  and  hopeless,  I  have  lost  the  power,  the  capacity 
to  love  anything,  and  1  have  no  heart  left  in.  my  bosom.  I  ac 
quit  you  of  much  for  which  I  formerly  held  you  responsible, 
and  1  honor  the  purity  of  purpose  that  forbade  your  receiving 
ike  visits  or  letters  of  him  who  must  one  day  answer  for  our 
worthless  lives.  1  fully  forgive  you  the  suffering  that  made 
•jitt  prematurely  old;  but,  my  affection  is  as  dead  as  all  my  girlish 
hopes,  and  buried  under  the  crushing  years  that  have  dragged 
themselves  over  my  poor,  proml,  pain-bleached  head.  You 
are  more  fortunate,  more  enviable  than  1,  for  you  have  *h« 
comforting  anticipation  of  a  speedy  release,  the  precious  \ssur- 
suice  that  your  torture  will  ere  1-»ng  be  ended;  while  I  must 


426  VNTIL  DEATH    US  DO  PART. 

frcnt  the  prospect  of  perhaps  foarscore  and  ten  years t  fopj 
despite  my  ivory  skin  and  fever-blanched  locks,  I  am  madden 
ingly  healthy.  Friend  of  my  childhood,  friend  of  my  happyc 
gunny,  sinless  days,  I  cordially  congratulate  you  on  yovr 
%]  preaching  deliverance.  God  knows  I  would  pay  yon  my 
foroune,  if  I  could  innocently  and  successfully  inject  into  my 
veins  and  lungs  the  poison  that  will  soon  rob  you  of  care  and 
fegret.  If  I  was  harsh  to-day,  forgive  and  forget  it,  for  nothing 
rankles  in  the  grave ;  and  now,  Edith,  go  away  quickly,  before 
I  repent  and  recant  the  words  I  here  utter.  God  comfort  you, 
Edith  Dexter,  and  remember  that  I  hold  you  guiltless  of  my 
wrecked  destiny." 

"  Oh,  Evelyn !    add   one    thing   more.     Say,  '  Edith,  I    love 

fOU.'" 

A  strangely  mournful  smile  parted  Mrs.  Geiome's  perfect 
lips  over  her  dazzling  teeth,  as  she  pushed  the  kneeling  figure 
from  her,  and  said  coldly, — 

"  Rise,  and  leave  me.  I  love  no  living  thing,  brute  or  human, 
for  even  my  faithful  dog  lies  buried  a  few  yards  hence.  Maurice 
treated  my  warm,  loving  natrire,  as  Tofana  did  her  unsuspecting 
victims,  and  for  that  slow  poison  there  is  no  antidote.  The 
Bole  interest  I  have  in  life  centres  in  my  art,  ancl  when  death 
mercifully  remembers  me,  some  pictures  I  have  patiently 
wrought  out  will  be  given  to  the  public;  and  the  next  genera 
tion,  will,  perhaps,  — 

'  Hear  ihe  world  applaud  the  hollow  ghost, 
Which  blamed  the  living  woman,' 

and,  smiling  grimly  in  my  coflin,  I  shall  echo, — 

'  Hither  to  come,  and  to  sleep, 
Under  the  wings  of  renown. ' " 

Bath  rose,  and  the  two  so  long  divided  faced  each  other  sor 
rowfully. 

"  Dear  Evelyn,  do  not  hug  despair  so  stubbornly  to  your 
bosom.  You  might  brighten  your  solitary  existence  if  you 


DEATH   US  DO   PART.  427 


wcmld,    and    be    comparatively    happy    in    this    lovely 
home." 

"You  think  'Solitude'  a  "very  desirable  and  beautiful  re 
treat?  Do  you  remember  the  gay  raiment  and  glitterinc  jewels 
that  covered  the  radiant  bride  of  Giacopoiio  di  Todil*  Ow 
day  an  accident  at  a  public  festival  mangled  her  mortal5  y 
and  when  her  gorgeous  garments  were  torn  oil",  lo  ! 

4  A  rcl>«  oi  sackcloth  next  tho  smooth,  white  skin/'  " 

A  Htidden  pallor  crept  over  the  delicate  face  of  the  governess, 
and,  folding  her  hands,  she  exclaimed  with  passionate  vehe 
mence,  — 

"  I  can  not,  I  must  not  shrink  from  the  chief  object  of  rny 
visit  here.  I  came  not  only  to  exonerate  myself,  but  to  plead 
for  poor  Maurice." 

Mrs.  Geromo  started  back,  and  the  pitiless  gleam  came  in 
stantly  into  her  softened  eyes. 

"  Do  not  mention  his  name  again.  I  thought  you  had  neither 
seen  nor  heard  from  him." 

"  1  must  plead  his  wretched  cause,  since  he  is  denied  the 
privilege  of  appealing  to  your  mercy.  Evelyn,  my  friends 
write  me  that  he  is  almost  in  a  state  of  destitution.  Only  last 
night  I  received  this  letter,  which  i  leave  for  your  perusal, 
and  which  assures  me  he  is  in  want,  and,  moreover,  is  danger- 
oxisly  ill.  Who  has  the  right,  the  privilege,  —  who.se  is  the 
duty,  imperative  and  stern,  to  hasten  to  his  bedside,  to  alleviate 
bis  suffering,  to  provide  for  his  needs?  Yours,  Evelyn  Carlyle, 
and  yoxirs  alone.  Where  are  the  marriage  vows  that  you 
snatched  from  my  lips  eight  years  ago,  and  eagerly  took  upoa 
your  own?  Did  you  not  solemnly  swear  in  the  presence  of 
heaven  and  earth  to  serve  him  and  keep  him  in  sickness 
and,  forsaking  all  others,  to  hold  him  from  that  day  forwurc 
for  better,  for  worse,  until  death  did  part  ye?  Oh,  Evelyn  ' 
do  not  scowl,  and  turn  away.  However  unworthy,  he  is  your 
husband  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man,  and  your  wedding  oath 
calls  you  to  him  in  this  hour  of  his  terrible  need.  Can  you 
sleep  peacefully,  knowing  that  he  ii  tossing  witli  paroxysms 


428  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PARF. 

of  pain,  and  perhaps  hungering  and  tnirsting  for  that  which 
you  could  readily  supply?  If  it  were  rigbt. —  if  I  dared,  I 
would  hasten  to  him ;  but  my  conscience  inexorably  forbids 
the  thought,  and  consigns  my  heart  to  torture,  for  which  there 
is  no  name.  You  will  tell  me  that  you  provided  ouce,  t\viu,'3 
for  all  reasonable  wants, — that  he  has  recklessly  'squandered 
liberal  allowances.  But  will  that  satisfy  your  cousci^ncf ,  while 
you  still  possess  ample  means  to  aid  him  ?  Will  you  permit 
the  man  whose  name  you  bear  to  live  on  other  charity  than 
your  own,  —  and  finally,  to  fill  a  pauper's  grave  ?  Oh,  Evelyn  ! 
was  it  for  this  that  you  took  my  darling,  my  idol,  from  my 
clinging,  loving  arms  ?  "Will  you  see  his  body  writhing  in 
the  agony  of  disease,  and  his  precious,  immortal  soul  in  fearful 
jeopardy,  while  you  stand  afar  off,  surrounded  by  every  luxury 
that  ingenuity  can  suggest,  and  gold  purchase  ?  Oh,  Evelyn  ! 
be  merciful;  do  your  duty.  Like  a  brave,  true,  though  injured 
woman,  go  to  Maurice,  and  strive  to  make  him  comfortable ; 
to  lighten,  by  your  pardon,  his  sad,  heavily  laden  heart.  By 
your  past,  your  memories  of  your  betrothal,  your  hopes  of 
heaven,  and  above  all,  by  your  marriage  vows,  I  implore  you 
to  discharge  your  sacred  duties." 

A  bitter  smile  twisted  the  muscles  about  Mrs.  Geroine'e 
mouth,  as  she  gazed  into  the  quivering,  eloquent  face  of  her 
companion,  and  Listened  to  the  impetuous  appeal  that  poured 
BO  pathetically  over  her  burning  lips. 

"  Edith,  you  amaze  me.  Is  it  possible  that  after  all  your 
injuries  you  can  cling  so  fondly,  so  madly,  to  the  man  who 
slighted,  and  humiliated,  and  blighted  you '?  " 

"  Ah !  you  are  his  wife,  and  I  am  the  ridiculed  and  pitied 
victim  of  his  flirtation,  so  says  the  world ;  but  my  affection 
outlives  yours.  Evelyn,  I  have  loved  him  from  the  lim* 
when  I  can  first  recollect ;  I  loved  him  with  a  deathlesu  dev> 
tion  that  neither  his  unwcrthiness,  nor  time,  nor  eternity  caa 
conquer;  and  to-day,  I  tell  you  that  he  is  dear  to  me,--deaz 
to  me  as  some  preciors  corpse,  over  which  a  gravestone  has 
gathered  moss  for  eight  weary,  dreary  years.  The  angels  LQ 
heaven,  would  not  blush  for  the  feeling  in  my  hera-t  toward* 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PA.RT.  4'JS 

Maarbe  Carlyle;  and  the  God  wuo  must  soon  judge  m<- 
will  not  condemn  the  pine  and  sacred  love  I  cheiish  for  thb 
t'uly  man  who  could  ever  have  been  my  huwl  and,  but  whom 
I  Lave  resolutely  refused  to  see,  even  wh«u  the  world  believed 
$Q:I  dead.  I  can  not  go  to  him,  and  comfort,  and  provide  foi 
Sim  now;  but,  in  the  name  cf  God,  and  your  oath,  and  if  not 
for  your  own  sake,  at  least  for  his  and  for  mine,  I  ask  yuu 
once  more,  Evelyn  Carlyle,  will  you  hasten  to  your  erring 
but  unhappy  husband  ?  " 

Her  scarlet  cheeks  and  Lips,  her  glowing  brown  eyes,  and 
waving  yellow  hair,  formed  a  singular  contrast  to  the  colorless, 
cold  face  of  her  listener;  whoso  steely  gaze  was  lixed  on  the 
distant  sea,  that  lay  like  a  beryl  mirror  beneath  the  hazy  sky. 

"When  the  sound  of  the  sweet  but  strained  voice  had  died 
away,  Mrs.  Geronie  turned  her  eyes  towards  the  governess. 
and  answered, — 

"  I  will  do  my  duty,  no  matter  how  revolting." 

"  Thank  God  !     When  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  If  at  all,  at  once." 

"  Evelyn,  when  you  come  home,  will  you  not  let  me  see  you, 
now  and  then,  and  win  my  way  back  to  my  old  place  in  your 
dear  heart  ?  Oh !  my  pale,  peerless  darling,  do  not  deny  me 
this." 

"  Home  ?  I  have  no  hone.  My  heart  is  grayer  than  my 
head, — and  your  old  niche  is  full  of  dust,  and  skeletons,  and 
murdered  hopes.  Let  me  see  you  no  more  in  this  world  ;  and 
oerhaps  in  the  Everlasting  Kest  1  shall  forget  my  hideous  past, 
which  your  face  recalls." 

"  Oh,  ray  poor  bruised  darling !  do  not  banish  me,"  wailed  the 
governess,  endeavoring  to  fold  her  arms  about  the  queenly 
form,  which  silently  but  effectually  held  her  back. 

"At  least,  dear  Evelyn,  let  me  kiss  you  once  more,  in  token 
that  you  cherish  no  bitterness  against  me." 

"Good-by,  Edith.  I  hold  you  innocent  of  my  injuries.  May 
(God  help  you,  and  call  us  both  speedily  to  our  dreamless  Bleep 
under  moss  and  marble." 

Siie  bent  down,  and  with  firm,  icy  lips,  lightly   touched  ih# 


430  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

forehead  of  the   governess,  and  walked  away,   unheeding  tka 
burst  of  tears  with  which  the  frigid  caress  was  welcomed. 

"  And  I  think,  in  the  lives  of  most  women  and  men. 
There's  a  moment  when  all  would  go  smooth  and.  tnrsxv, 

If  only  the  dead  could  find  out  when 

To  oome  back,  and  be  forgiven. " 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

,  are  you  aware  that  you  breathe  an  infected 
atmosphere  ?  —  that  this  building  is  assigned  to 
small-pox  cases  ?  Pray  do  not  cross  the  threshold." 

The  superintendent  of  the  hospital  laid  aside  his  pipe,  and  ad 
vanced  to  meet  the  stranger  whose  knock  had  startled  him  from 
a  post-prandial  doze. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  contagion,  and  came  to  see  the  patient 
who  was  brought  here  yesterday  from  No.  139  Elm  Street.1' 

"  Have  you  a  permit  to  visit  here  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  will  find  it  on  this  paper,  given  me  by  the  propel 
authorities." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  person  you  desire  to  see  ?  " 

The  superintendent  opened  a  book  that  lay  on  the  table 
beside  him,  and  drew  his  linger  xip  and  down  the  page. 

"MaariceCarlyle." 

"Ah,  yes,  —  I  have  it  now.  Maurice  Carlyle,  Ward  3,—  cot 
No.  7.  Madam,  may  I  ask,  —  " 

"No,  sir;  I  have  no  inclination  to  answer  idle  questions. 
Will  you  show  me  the  way,  or  shall  I  find  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  will  conduct  you ;  but  I  was  about  to  remark 
that  a  death  has  just  occurred  in  Ward  No.  3,  and  I  am  undei 
the  impression  that  it  was  the  Elm  Street  case.  Madam,  you 
look  faint ;  shall  I  bring  you  a  glass  of  water  ?  " 

"  No.     Show  me  the  body  of  the  dead.'' 


UNTIL    DEATH  US  DO  PART.  431 

**  This  "vray,  if  you  please." 

He  walked  down  a  dim,  low- vaulted  passage,  aud  paused  at 
lie  entrance  of  a  room  lined  with  cots,  where  the  uurse  wad 
slowly  passing  from  patient  to  patient. 

"Nurse,  shew  this  lady  to  cot  No.  7." 

Swiftly  the  tall  figure  of  tLe  visitor  glided  down  tla  rocs£.3 
and  placing  her  hana  on  the  arm  of  the  nurse,  she  sai4 
etnskily,  — 

"Where  is  the  man  who  has  just  died?  Quick!  do  not 
keep  me  in  suspense." 

"  Thei-e,  to  the  right ;  shall  I  uncover  the  face  ?  " 

Under  the  blue  check  coverlet  that  was  spread  smoothly  ovei 
the  cot,  the  stiff  outlines  of  a  human  form  were;  clearly  defined ; 
and,  when  the  nurse  stooped,  the  stranger  put  out  one  arm  and 
neld  him  back,  white  her  whole  frame  trembled  violently. 

"  Stop  !  be  good  enough  to  leave  me." 

The  attendant  withdrew  a  few  yards,  and  curiously  watched 
the  queenly  woman,  who  stood  motionless,  with  her  fingers 
lightly  interlaced. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  gray  suit  of  some  shining  fabric,  and  a 
long  gossamer  veil  of  the  same  hue  nung  over  her  features 
After  a  few  seconds  she  swept  back  the  veil,  and,  as  she  bent 
forward,  a  stray  sunbeam  dipped  through  the  closed  shutters, 
and  flashed  across  a  white,  horror-stricken  face,  crowned  with 
clustering  braids  of  silver  hair. 

She  shut  her  eyes  an  instant,  grasped  the  coverlet,  and  drew 
it  down ;  then  caught  her  breath,  and  looked  at  the  dead. 

It  was  a  young,  boyish  face,  horribly  swollen  and  distorted, 
and  coarse  red  locks  were  matted  around  his  brow  and  temples. 

"Thank  God,  Maurice  Carlyle  still  lives." 

She  involuntarily  raised  her  hands  towards  heaven,  and  tha 
nfs.  preasion  of  dread  melted  from  her  countenance. 

Slowly  aud  reverently  she  re-covered  the  corpse,  and  ap 
proached  the  nurse. 

"  I  am  searching  for  my  husband.     Which  art  is  No.  7?" 

"That  on  your  left,  —  next  to  the  dead." 

Mrs.  Carlyle  turned,  and  ga^ed  at  the  bloated  crimson  mass 


432  UNTIL  DEATH  UK  DO  PART. 

of  disease  that  writhed  on  the  narrow  bed,  and  a  long  shuJIJtf 
crept  over  her,  as  she  endeavored  to  discover  in  that  loath- 
Bome  hidecus  visage  some  familiar  feature  —  some  truce  of  the 
aiflnly  beauty  that  once  rendered  it  so  fascinating. 

The  swollen  blood-shot  eyes  stared  vacantly  at  the  ceiling,  and, v 
wiiile  delirious  muttering  fell  upon  the  ears  of  the  visitor,  she 
t&v   that  his  cheeks   were  somewhat  lacerated,  and  his  haiuls, 
partially  confined,  were  tearing  at  the  inflamed  flesh. 

She  shivered  with  horror,  and  a  groan  broke  from  her  pitying 
heart. 

"  What  an  awful  retribution  !  My  God,  have  mercy  upon 
him  !  He  is  sufficiently  punished." 

Drawing  her  perfumed  lace  handkerchief  from  her  pocket, 
she  leaned  over  and  wiped  away  the  bloody  foam  that  oozed 
across  his  lips,  and  lifting  his  hot  head  turned  it  sufficiently  to 
expose  the  right  ear,  where  a  large  inole  was  hidden  by  the  thick 
hair. 

"  Maurice  Carlyle  !     But  what  a  fearful  wreck  ?  " 

She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  and  moaned. 

The  nurse  came  nearer,  and  said  hesitatingly, — 

"  Madam,  surely  he  is  not  your  husband  ?  His  clothes  ara 
almost  in  tatters,  while  yours  are  —  ahem  !  — " 

"  Spare  me  all  comments  on  the  comparison..  Can  I  obtain  a 
comfortable,  quiet  room,  in  this  building,  and  have  him  removed 
to  it  at  once  ?  You  hesitate  ?  I  will  compensate  you  liberally, 
will  pay  almost  any  price  for  an  apartment  where  he  can  at 
least  have  silence  and  seclusion." 

"  We  can  accommodate  you,  but  of  course  if  the  patient  is  car 
lied  from  this  ward  to  a  private  room,  we  shall  be  compelled  to 
<  barge  extra." 

"  Charge  what  you  choose,  only  arrange  the  matter  a* 
promptly  as  possible.  How  soon  can  you  make  the  change  ?  " 

"  In  twenty  minutes,  madam." 

The  nurse  rang  for  an  assistant,  to  "whom  the  necessary  in 
structions  were  given,  and  in  the  interim  Mrs.  Carlyle  leaned 
against  the  cot,  and  brashed  away  the  flies  that  buzzed  alxmt  th* 
pitiable  victims. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  433 

Two  men  carried  the  sufferer  up  a  flight  of  steps,  and  ero 
long  ho  was  transferred  to  a  large  comfortable  bed  in  an  airj 
weil-fii  rnished  apartment. 

The  removal  had  riot  been  completed  more  than  an  hour. 
when  the  surgeon  made  his  evening  round,  and  followed  tin 
j-itier^t  to  his  new  quarters. 

Jle  paused  at  sight  of  the  elegantly  dressed  woman  who  sai 
beside  tho  bed,  and  said,  stararneringly,  — 

"  I  am  informed  that  No.  7  is  your  husband,  and  that  you 
have  taken  charge  of  his  case,  and  intend  to  nurse  him.  Havs 
you  had  small-pox  ?  " 

"No,  Kir." 

"  Madam,  you  run  a  fearful  risk." 

"I  fully  appreciate  the  hazard,  and  am  prepared  to  incur  it. 
Do  you  regard  this  case  as  hopeless  ?  " 

"  Not  altogether,  though  the  probabilities  are  that  it  will  ter 
minate  fatally." 

"  1  have  had  too  little  experience  to  warrant  my  undertaking 
the  management  of  the  case,  and,  while  I  intend  to  remain  here, 
I  wish  you  to  engage  the  services  of  some  trustworthy  nurse  who 
understands  the  treatment  of  this  disease.  C;m  you  recommend 
such  a  person  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam ;  I  can  send  you  a  man  in  v,  horn  I  have  entire 
confidence,  and  fortunately  he  is  not  at  present  employed.  If 
you  desire  it,  1  will  see  him  within  the  next  hour,  and  gi  ve  him 
ail  requisite  instructions  about  the  patient." 

"  Promptness  in  this  matter  will  greatly  oblige  me,  and  1 
wish  to  spare  no  expense  in  contributing  to  the  comfort  and 
restoration  of  the  sufferer.  As  I  am  utterly  unknown  to  you, 
I  prefer  to  place  ir.  your  hands  a  sufficient  amount  to  defray  all 
incidental  expenditures." 

£he  laid  a  roll  of  bills  upon  the  table,  and  as  Dr.  Clingmaji 
counted  them,  she  added,  — 

"  It  is  possible  that  i  may  be  attacked  by  this  disease,  though 
I  have;  been  repeatedly  vaccin.ited ;  and  if  1  should  die,  please 
recollect  that  you  wiil  find  in  my  purse  a  memorandum  of  the 


t34  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAET. 

disposition  I  wish  made  of  my  body,  —  also  the  address  of  n\j 
agent  and  banker  in  New- York  City." 

With  mingled  curiosity  and  admiration  the  physician  looked 
at  the  pale,  handsome  woman,  who  spoke  of  death  as  coldly 
and  unconcernedly  as  of  to-morrow's  sun,  or  next  month's 
jioon. 

"Madam,  allow  me  to  ask  if  you  have  no  friends  in  tLia 
city,  —  no  relatives  nearer  than  New  York?" 

"  None,  sir.  It  is  my  wish  that  our  conversation  shonlrl  be 
confined  to  the  symptoms  and  treatment  of  your  patient." 

Dr.  Clingman  bowed,  and,  after  writing  minute  instructions 
upon  a  sheet  of  paper  left  on  the  mantelpiece,  took  his  de 
parture. 

Securing  the  door  on  the  inside,  Mrs.  Carlyle  threw  aside 
her  bonnet  and  wrappings,  and  came  back  to  the  sufferer  on  the 
bed. 

Eight  years  of  reckless  excess  and  dissipation  had  obliterated 
every  vestige  of  manly  beauty  from  features  that  disease  now 
rendered  loathsome,  and  the  curling  hair  and  long  beard  were 
unkempt  and  grizzled. 

Leaning  against  the  pillow,  the  lonely  woman  bent  over  to 
scrutinize  the  distorted,  burning  face,  and  softly  took  into  her 
cool  palms  one  hot  and  swollen  hand,  which  in  other  days  she 
had  admiringly  stroked,  and  tenderly  pressed  against  her  cheek 
and  lips.  How  totally  imlike  that  countenance,  which,  handsome 
as  Apollyon,  had  looked  down  at  her  on  her  bridal  day,  and 
fondly  whispered  —  "  my  wife." 

Memory  mercilessly  broke  open  sealed  chambers  in  that 
wretched  woman's  heart,  and  out  of  one  leaped  a  wail  that 
made  her  tremble  and  moan,  —  "  Oh,  Evelyn,  my  wife,  forgire 
your  husband." 

Slowly  compassion  began  to  bridge  the  dark  gulf  of  separa 
tion  and  hate,  and  as  the  wife  gazed  at  the  writhing  form  of  her 
husband,  her  stonr  face  softened,  and  tears  gathered  in  the  large? 
mournful  eyes. 

"Ah,  Maurice  1     This  world  has  proved  a  huge  cheat  to  you 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  I 'ART.  435 

and  to  me, —-and  "well -nigh  cost  us  .ill  peace  in  the  aext  :mo. 
My  husband,  yet  lay  bitterest  foe,  —  my  tirst,  my  Lisc,  my  on1? 
love  !  If  I  could  recall  one  throb  of  the  old  aifectlon,  one  aloia 
of  the  old  worshipping  tenderness  and  devotion, —  but  >«  haa 
withered;  my  heart  is  scorched  ami  ashen,  —  and  neither  love 
<ior  hope  haunts  its  desolate  ruins.  Poor,  polluted,  down- 
':rod  ten  idol!  Maurice  —  Maurice  —  my  husband,  I  have 
:;oaie,  Evelyn,  your  wife,  forgives  you,  as  she  hopes  for  pardon 
d  the  hands  of  her  God." 

Kneeling  beside  the  bed,  with  her  snowy  ringers  clasped 
around  his,  she  bowed  her  head,  aud  humbly  prayed  for  his 
soul,  ;rnd  i'ur  her  own  ;  and,  when  the  petition  ended,  that  peace 
which  this  world  can  never  give, — •  which  had  so  long  been 
sxiled,  fluttered  back  and  brooded  once  more  in  her  storm-riven 
heart. 

Softly  she  lifted  and  smoothed  the  king  tangled  hair  that 
slung  to  his  forehead,  and  tears  dripped  upon  his  scarlet  face,  a3 
ihe  said;  brokenly,  — 

"  Till  death  us  do  part !  Poor  Maurice  !  Deserted  and 
lespised  by  your  former  parasites.  After  long  years,  my  vowa 
bring  me  back  in  the  hour  of  your  need.  God  grant  you  life, 
to  redeem  your  past,  —  to  save  your  sinful  soul  from  eternal 
ruin." 

Suns  rose  and  set,  weary  days  and  solemn  nights  of  vigil  suc 
ceeded  each  other,  and  <"' ->'•  flsly  the  wife  and  hired  nurse 
watched  the  progress  of  the  dreadful  disease.  Occasionally  Mr. 
Carlyle  talked  deliriously,  and  more  than  once  the  name  of 
Edith  Dexter  hung  on  his  lips,  and  was  coupled  with  tenderer 
terms  than  were  ever  bestowed  on  the  woman  who  wore  his 
awn.  Bending  over  his  pillow,  the  pale  watcher  heard  aud 
noted  all,  and  a  sad  pitying  smile  curved  her  mouth  now  and 
iheu,  as  she  realized  that  the  one  holy  love  of  this  nianV  Ufa 
triumphed  over  the  wreck  of  fortune,  health,  and  hope,  ami 
kept  its  hold  upon  the  heart  that  long  years  before  had  sold 
itself  to  Lucifer. 

Sleeplessly,  faithfully,  she  went  to  and  *ro  in  that  dark 
ened  room,  whose  atmosphere  was  tainted  by  infection,  an  .J 


436  UNTIL  LEATH  U&  DO    PAST. 

at  last  s;»«  lound  her  regard.    The  crisis  was  safely  passed,  end 
•he  was  assured  the  patient  would  recover. 

The  apartment  was  so  dimly  lighted  that  Mr.  Carlyle  took 
little  notice  of  hi«  attendants,  but  one  afternoon  when  the  flurst 
had  gone  to  procure  some  refreshments,  the  sick  man  turned  on 
his  pillow,  and  looked  earnestly  at  the  woman  who  was  en 
g*god  in  writing  at  a  table  near  the  bed. 

"  Mrs.  Smith." 
.    Mrs.  Carlyle  rose  and  approached  him. 

u  Are  you  Mrs.  Smith,  —  my  landlady  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     I  am  merely  your  nurse." 

"  My  nurse  ?     What  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  " 

"  Small-pox,  —  but  the  danger  is  now  over." 

"  Small-pox !  Where  did  I  catch  it  ?  Am  I  still  in  Elm 
Street  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  you  are  in.  the  hospital." 

Shading  his  inflamed  eyes  with  his  hand,  he  mused  for  some 
moments,  and  she  saw  a  perplexed  and  sorrowful  expression 
:ross  his  features. 

"  Is  there  any  danger  of  my  dying  ?  " 

"  That  danger  is  past." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Gerome." 

"  Stand  a  little  closer  to  me.  I  f. nd  I  am  almost  blind. 
Mrs.  Gerome  ?  Your  voice  is  strangely  like  one  that  I  have 
not  heard  for  many  years,  —  and  it  cariies  me  back,  —  back  — 
to  —  "  Ue  sighed,  and  pressed  his  fingers  over  his  eyes. 

After  a  few  seconds,  he  said,  — 

"  Do  give  me  some  water.     I  am  as  parched  as  Dives." 

Si- o  lifted  his  head  and  put  the  glass  to  his  lips,  —  and  while 
he  drank,  his  eyes  searched  her  face,  and  lingered  admiringly 
a>n  her  beautiful  hand 

"  Are  you  a  regular  nurse  at  this  hospital  ?  " 

v  I  am  engaged  for  your  case." 

"  I  see  no  pock-marks  on  your  skin ;  it  is  as  smooth  as  ivory 
Shall  I  escape  as  lightly  ?  " 

^  It  is  impossible  to  tell.     Here  comes  your  dinner." 


UNTIL   DEATH  US  DO  PART.  t37 

ITe  caught  her  arm,  and  gazed  earnestly  at  her. 

"  Is  yonr  hair  really  so  white,  or  is  it  merely  MI  iLusiuia  :>* 
my  inflamed  eyes  ?  " 

"There  is  not  a  dark  hair  in  my  head;  it  is  as  white  .& 
snow." 

While  the  nurse  prepared  the  food  and  arranged  it  on  Ihf 
table,  Mrs.  Carlyle  hastily  collected  several  articles  scatters 
&lout  the  apartment,  and  softly  opened  the  door. 

Standing  there  a  moment,  she  looked  back  at  the  ligure  torn 
fortably  elevated  on  pillows,  and  a  long  sigh  of  relief  crossed 
her  lips. 

'•'Thank  God!  I  have  done  my  duty,  and  now  he  needs  nie 
no  longer.  Next  time  ]  see  your  face,  Maurice  Carlyle,  I  hope 
it  will  be  at  the  last  bar,  in  the  final  judgment;  and  then  may 
the  Lord  have  mercy  upon  TIS  both." 

The  words  were  breathed  inaudibly,  and,  closing  the  door 
gently,  she  hurried  down  the  steps  and  in  the  direction  of  a 
small  room  which  Dr.  Clingman  had  converted  into  an  ofiice. 

As  she  entered,  he  looked  up  and  pushed  back  his  spectacles. 
•  "  What  can  1  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  A  little  thing,  which  will  cost  you  no  trouble,  but  will 
greatly  oblige  me.  Doctor,  I  have  found  you  a  kind  and  syrn 
pathiziug  gentleman,  and  am  grateful  for  the  delicate  considera 
tion  with  which  you  have  treated  me.  Mr.  Carly'e  is  beyond 
danger,  and  i  shall  leave  him  in  your  care.  When  he  is  suffi 
ciently  strong  to  be  removed.  I  desire  that  you  will  give  him 
this  letter,  whi/jh  contains  a  check  payable  to  his  order.  Theres 
emu  nine  it,  and  be  so  good  as  to  write  me  a  receipt." 

Silently  lie  complied,  and  when  she  had  re-enclosed  the  check 
and  sealed  the  envelope  she  placed  it  in  his  hand. 

"Dr.  Olingmau,  is  there  any  other  place  to  which  small- po» 
cases  can  be  carried  ?  To-day  I  have  discovered  some  symptoms 
of  the  disease  in  in)  own  system,  and  I  feel  assured  i  shall  b« 
ill  before  this  time  to-morrow." 

u  My  dear  madam,  why  not  remain  here?*' 

*  ik  cause  I  do  not  wish  to  be  Uncovered  '•*-  Mr.  Carh  e,  and 
37* 


438  UNTIL  DEATH  CS  DO    F  ART. 

forced  to  meet  him  again.  I  prefer  tc  svitFer,  s-ud,  if  ^eed  be 
die,  alone  and  unknown." 

"  If  you  will  trust  yourself  to  me,  and  to  a  faithful  feinal« 
nurse  whom  I  can  secure,  I  promise  you,  upon  my  licnor  as  a 
gentleman,  that  I  will  allow  no  one  else  to  see  you,  living  ci 
dead.  My  dear  madam,  I  beg  you  to  reconsider,  and  reiraii 
•where  I  can  watch  over,  and  perhaps  preserve  your  Hfe.  1 
dreaded  this.  You  are  feverish  now." 

Wearily  she  swept  her  hand  across  her  forehead,  and  a  dreary 
Binile  flitted  over  her  wan  features. 

"  My  life  is  a  worthless,  melancholy  thing,  useless  to  others, 
and  a  crushing  burden  to  me ;  and  I  might  as  well  lay  it  down 
here  as  elsewhere.  I  accept  your  promise,  Dr.  Clingman,  and 
hope  you  will  obtain  a  room  in  the  quiet  and  secluded  portion 
of  the  building.  If  I  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  die,  do  not 
forget  the  memorandum  in  this  purse.  I  leave  my  body  in  your 
care,  my  soul  in  the  hands  of  Him  who  alone  can  give  it  rest." 

"  The  burden  of  my  days  is  hard  to  bear, 

But  God  knows  best ; 

And  I  have  prayed,  —  but  vain  has  been  my  prayer.  — 
For  rest  —  for  rest." 


CHAPTER   XXXIL 

]ISS  DEXTER,  have  you  succeeded  in  seeing  Mr«, 
Gerome  since  her  return  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  she  obstinately  refuses  to  admit  me, 
Usough  I  have  called  twice  at  the  house.  Yesterdav  I  received 
a  letter  in  answer  to  several  that  I  have  addressed  10  her,  all  of 
which  she  returned  unopened.  Since  you  have  already  learned 
BO  much  of  our  melancholy  history,  why  should  I  hesitate  to 
acquaint  you  with  the  contents  of  her  letter  ?  You  know  ths 
object  of  her  journey  north,  and  I  will  read  you  the  result." 


UNTIL  LEATH  US  DO  PAnT.  43S 

governors  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket,  and   Dr.  Cre; 
his  face  on  his  hand  and  listened. 

"SOLITUDE:,  Moylbth,  IS—. 

"JZdith) —  No  lingering  vestige  of  affection,  no  remcrsefu' 
tenderness,  prompted  that  mission  from  which  I  have  recent  h 
returned,  and  only  the  savage  scourgingfc  of  implacable  dut) 
could,  have  driven  me,  like  a  galle)  -slave,  to  my  hated  task. 
Tlie  victim  of  a  horrible  and  disfiguring  disease  which  so  com 
pletely  changed  his  countenance  that  his  own  mother  would 
scarcely  have  recognized  him,  —  and  the  tenant  of  a  charity  hos 
pital  in  the  town  of  — ,  I  found  that  man  who  has  proved  the 

Upas  of  your  life  and  of  mine.  During  his  delirium  I  watched 
and  nursed  him  —  not  lovingly  (how  could  I?)  but  faithfully, 
kindly,  pityingly.  When  all  danger  was  safely  passed,  and  his 
clouded  intellect  began  to  clear  itself,  1  left  him  in  careful 
hands,  and  provided  an  ample  amount  for  his  comfortable 
maintenance  in  coming  years.  I  spared  him  the  humiliation 
of  recognizing  in  his  nurse  his  injured  and  despised  wife;  and, 
as  night  after  night  I  watched  beside  the  pitiable  wreck  of  a 
once  handsome,  fascinating,  and  idolized  man,  1  fully  and  freely 
forgave  Maurice  Caiiyle  all  the  wrongs  that  so  completely 
stranded  my  life.  To-day  he  is  well,  and  probably  happy,  while 
he  finds  himself  possessed  of  means  by  which  to  gratify  his 
extravagant  tastes ;  but  how  long  his  naturally  fine  constitution 
can  hold  at  bay  the  legion  of  ills  that  hunt  like  hungry  wolves 
along  the  track  of  reckless  dissipation,  God  only  knows. 

"  For  some  natures  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  forgive,  -  -  to 
forget,  impossible;  and  while  my  husband's  abject  wretched 
ness  and  degradation  disarmed  the  hate  that  has  for  so  many 
years  rankled  in  my  heart,  I  could  never  again  look  willingly 
upon  his  face.  Edith,  you  and  I  have  nothing  in  common  bu 
miserable  memories,  which,  I  beg  you  to  believe,  are  sufficient!) 
vivid,  without  the  torturing  adjunct  of  your  countenance ; 
therefore,  pardon  me  if  I  decline  to  receive  your  visits,  and 
return  the  letters  that  are  quite  as  welcome  and  cheering  to  my 


440  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

eyes  as  the  little  shoes  and  garments  of  the  long-buried  dead  fcc 
the  mother,  who  would  fain  look  no  more  upon  the  harrowing 
relics.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  harsh,  but  I  must  be  honest,  and 
our  intercourse  can  never  be  renewed  in  this  world. 

"  In  bygone  days,  when  I  loved  you  so  fondly  and  trusts 
you  so  fully,  it  was  my  intention  to  share  my  fortune  with  you; 
and,  since  I  find  that  you  have  not  forfeited  my  confidence  in 
the  purity  of  your  purposes,  such  is  still  my  wish.  I  enclose  & 
draft  on  my  banker,  which  I  hope  you  will  deem  sufficient  to 
enable  you  to  abandon  the  arduous  profession  in  which  you 
have  worn  out  your  life.  If  I  can  feel  assured  that  I  have  been 
instrumental  in  contributing  to  the  peace  and  ease  of  the  years 
that  may  yet  be  in  store  for  you,  it  will  serve  as  one  honeyed 
drop  to  sweeten  the  dregs  of  the  cup  of  woe  I  am  draining. 
Edith,  do  not  refuse  the  only  aid  I  can  oifer  you  in  your  loneli 
ness  ;  and  accept  the  earnest  assurance  that  I  shall  be  grateful 
for  the  privilege  of  promoting  your  comfort.  Affection  and 
trust  I  have  not,  and  a  few  paltry  thousands  are  all  I  am  now 
able  to  bestow.  By  the  love  you  once  professed,  and  in  th« 
name  of  ihat  compassion  you  should  feel  for  me,  I  beg  of  yoa, 
despise  not  the  gift ;  and  let  the  consciousness  that  I  have  saved 
you  from  toil  and  fatigue  quiet  the  soul  and  ease  the  heart  of  a 
lonely  woman,  who  has  shaken  hands  with  every  earthly  hope. 
I  have  done  my  duty,  my  conscience  is  calm  and  contented,  and 
I  sit  wearily  on  the  stormy  shore  of  time,  waiting  for  the  tide 
that  will  drift  into  eternity  the  desolate,  proud  soul  of 

"VASIITI  CAIILVLE." 

Tears  rolled  over  the  governess'  cheeks,  and,  refolding  the 
tetter,  she  said,  sorrowfully, — 

"  My  poor,  heart-broken  Vasht  i !  She  has  resumed  the  nani* 
which  old  Elsie  gave  her  because  it  was  her  mother's;  and  how 
nournfully  appropriate  it  has  proved.  I  could  be  happy  if 
permitted  to  spend  the  residue  of  my  days  *dth  her ;  but  she 
decrees  otherwise,  and  I  have  n<  alternative  but  submission  t» 
her  imperious  will." 


UNTIL    DEATH  US  DO  PART.  4il 

Dr.  Grey  did  not  lift  his  face  where  the  shadow  of  ,i  great 
voiceless  grief  hung  heavily,  and  his  low  tone  indexed  Jeep  and 
painful  emotion,  when  he  answered,  — 

"  I  sincerely  deplore  her  unfortunate  decision,  for  isolation 
•>nly  augments  the  ills  from  which  she  suffers.  Many  month* 
iavt  elapsed  since  I  saw  b«r  h>st,  but  Robert  Maclean  told  me 
.o-day  that  sho  was  sadly  changed  in  appearance,  and  seemed  in 
feeble  health.  She  did  not  tell  you  that  she  had  been  danger 
ously  ill  with  varioloid,  contracted  while  nursing  her  husband. 
Although  not  in  the  least  marked  or  disfigured,  the  attack  must 
have  seriously  impaired  her  constitution,  if  all  that  Robert  tells 
me  be  true.  Since  her  return,  one  mouth  ago,  she  has  not  left 
her  room." 

"  Dr.  Grey,  exert  your  influence  in  my  behalf,  and  prevail 
upon  her  to  admit  me." 

"  Miss  Dexter,  you  ascribe  to  me  powers  of  persuasion  which, 
unfortunately,  1  do  not  possess ;  and  Mrs.  Carlyle's  decree  is 
beyond  the  reach  of  human  agency.  To  the  few  who  are  ear 
nestly  interested  in  her  welfare,  there  remains  but  one  avenue 
of  aid  and  comfort,  —  faithful,  fervent  prayer." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  of  the  exalted  es  11  <tte  she 
places  on  your  character,  nor  of  the  value  she  attaches  to  your 
opinions.  Of  all  living  beings,  she  told  me  she  reverenced  and 
trusted  you  most ;  and  you,  at  least,  would  not  be  denied  access 
to  her  presence." 

She  could  not  see  the  tremor  on  his  usually  firm  lips,  nor  U.6 
mil  or  that  overspread  his  face,  ::nd  when  he  sue  ike  his  grava 
Joice  did  not  betray  the  tumult  in  his  aching  heart. 

"  I  am  no  longer  a  visitor  at  '  Solitude  '  and  .shall  not  see  ita 

O 

mistress  unless  she  requires  my  professional  aid.  \Vhile  I  am 
very  deeply  interested  in  her  happiness,  I  could  never  consent 
tc  intrude  upon  her  seclusion." 

"  [  know  my  days  are  numbered,  and  after  a  little  while  1 
shall  sleep  well  under  the  ancient  cedars  that  shade;  the  head 
stones  of  my  father  and  mother ;  but  1  could  die  more  cheer- 
full  v,  more  ^oyfully,  if  Evelyn  would  only  bo  comforted,  and 
accept  some  human  friendship." 


442  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

"For  some  weeks  you  have  seemed  so  much  bet.ner  that  • 
hoped  warm  weather  would  quite  relieve  ami  invigorate  you. 
Spend  next  winter  in  Cuba  or  Mexico,  and  it  will  probably  ads! 
many  months,  possibly  years,  to  your  life." 

She  smiled,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  This  beautiful  springtime  has  temporarily  baffled  the  <ns. 
Rase,  but  for  me  there  can  be  no  restoration.  Day  by  day  1  tec>) 
the  ebbing  of  strength  and  energy,  and  the  approach  of  my 
deliverer,  death ;  but  I  realize  also,  what  the  Centaur  uttered  to 
Melampus,  '  I  decline  unto  my  last  days  calm  as  the  setting  of 
the  constellations ;  but  I  feel  myself  perishing  and  passing 
quickly  away,  like  a  snow-wreath  floating  on  the  stream.' " 

As  he  looked  at  the  thin,  pure  face  where  May  sunshine 
streamed  warm  and  bright,  and  marked  the  perfect  peace  that 
brooded  over  the  changed  features,  Dr.  Grey  was  reminded  of 
the  lines  that  might  have  been  written  for  her,  so  fully  "were 
they  suited  to  her  case, — 

"  I  saw  that  one  who  lost  her  love  in  pain, 

Who  trod  on  thorns,  who  drank  the  loathsome  cup; 
The  lost  in  night,  in  day  was  found  again ; 

The  fallen  was  lifted  up. 
They  stood  together  in  the  blessed  noon, 

They  sang  together  through  the  length  of  days ; 
Each  loving  face  bent  sunv.-ards,  like  a  moon 

New-lit  with  love  and  praise. " 

"  My  friend,  the  shadows  are  passing  swiftly  from  your  life, 
and,  in  the  mild  radiance  of  its  close,  you  cau  well  afford  to 
forget  the  storms  that  clouded  its  dawn." 

"Forget?  No,  Dr.  Grey,  I  neither  endeavor  nor  desire  to 
forget  the  sorrows  that  lirst  taught  me  the  emptiness  of  earthly 
things,  the  futility  of  human  schemes,  —  that  snapped  the  fraii 
reed  of  flesh  to  which  I  clung,  and  gave  me,  instead,  the  blessed 
support,  the  immovable  arm  of  an  everlasting  God.  Ah !  that 
woman  was  deeply  versed  in  thf  heart-lore  of  her  own  sex,  vrhc 


•JNTTL  DEATH    US  DO   PART.  U3 

When  I  remember  something'  which  I  had, 
But  which  is  pone,  and  1  must  do  without, 

When  I  remember  something  promised  me, 
But  which  I  never  had,  nc     /•an  have  now, 

Because  the  promiser  we  no  more  see 

In.  countries  that  accord  with  mortal  vow ; 

When  I  remember  this,  I  mourn,  — but  yet 

My  happier  days  are  not  the  days  when  I  forget.' " 

"  I  f  Mrs.  Curlyle  possessed  a  tithe  of  your  faith  and  pliiloso- 
nhy,  how  serene,  how  tranquilly  useful  her  future  years  might 
prove." 

"  in  God's  own  good  time  her  trials  will  be  sanctified  to  her 
eternal  peace,  and  she  will  one  day  glide  from  grief  to  glory, 
for  she  can  claim  the  promise  of  our  Lord,  'The  pure  in  heart 
shall  see  God.'  No  purer  heart  than  Vashti  Carlyle's  throbs 
this  side  of  the  throne  where  seraphim  and  cherubim  hover." 

In  the  brief  silence  that  succeeded,  the  governess  observed 
the  unusually  grave  and  melancholy  expression  of  her  com 
panion's  countenance,  and  asked,  timidly, — 

"Has  anything  occurred  recently  to  distress  or  annoy  your 
You  look  depressed." 

"  I  feel  inexpressibly  anxious  about  Salome,  concerning  whose 
fate  1  can  learn  notliing  that  is  comforting.  In  reply  to  my  letter, 
urging  him  to  make  every  effort  to  ascertain  her  locality  and 

condition,  Professor  V writes,  that  lie  is  now  a  confirmed 

invalid,  confined  to  his  room,  and  unable  to  conduct  the  search 
for  his  missing  pupil.  She  left  Palermo  on  a  small  vessel  bound 
for  Monaco,  and  her  farewell  note  stated  that  a.l  attempts  to 
discover  her  retreat  would  prove  futile,  as  she  was  resolved 
to  preserve  her  incognito,  and  wished  her  friends  in  America 

k>  remain  in  ignorance  of  her  mode  of  life.      Professor  V 

so.ruiises  that  she  is  in  Paris,  but  gives  no  good  reason  for  the 
con | eon i re,  except  that  she  possibly  sought  the  best  medical 
ad  vice  for  the  treatment  of  her  throat  and  recovery  of  her 
,-oicc.  His  List  letter,  received  yesterday,  informed  nir-  that  one 
jf  Salome's  most  devoted  admirers,  a  Bostonian  of  inunensf 


4-U  UNTIL  DEATH  L'j   US  PART. 

wealth,  was  so  deeply  grieved  by  her  inexplicable  disappearance 
that  he  was  diligently  fcearching  for  her  in  Leghorn  and  Mo 
naco.  She  left  Palern>o  alone,  and  with  a  comparatively  emptj 
purse." 

"  Dr.  Groy,  are  you  aware  of  the  suspicions  which  Muriel  ha» 
ong  entertained  with  reference  to  Mr.  G  Danville's  admiratiufc 
if  Salome,  and  the  efforts  of  the  latter  io  encourage  his  atten 
tions  ?  " 

"  I  have  very  cogent  reasons  for  believing  that  however  amen 
able  to  censure  Mr.  Granville  doubtless  is,  Muriel's  distrust  of 
Salome  is  totally  unjust.  If  she  were  capable  of  the  despicable 
course  my  ward  is  disposed  to  impute  to  her,  I  should  cease  to 
feel  any  interest  in  her  career  or  fate  ;  but  I  cherish  the  convic. 
tion  that  she  would  scorn  to  be  guilty  of  conduct  so  ignoble. 
Her  defects  of  character  I  shall  neither  deny  nor  attempt  to 
paUiate,  but  I  trust  her  true  womanly  heart  as  I  trust  niy  own 
manly  honor ;  and  a  stern  sense  of  justice  to  the  absent  con 
strains  me  to  vindicate  her  from  Muriel's  hasty  and  unfounded 
aspersions.  So  strong  is  my  faith  in  Salome's  conscientiousness, 
so  earnest  my  friendship  for  her,  that  since  the  receipt  of  Pro 
fessor  V 's  letter  1  have  determined  to  go  immediately  to 

Europe,  and  if  possible  discover  her  retreat.  My  sister's 
adopted  child  must  riot  and  shall  not  suffer  and  struggle  among 
strangers,  while  1  live  to  aid  and  protect  her." 

Miss  Dexter  rose  and  laid  her  thin,  feverish  hand  on  his  arm, 
while  embarrassment  made  her  voice  tremble  slightly,  — 

"  I  am  rejoiced  to  learn  your  decision,  and  God  grant  you 
speedy  success  in  your  quest.  Do  not  deern  me  presumptuous 
or  impertinent  if,  prompted  by  a  sincere  desire  to  see  you 
happy,  I  venture  to  say,  that  he  who  lightly  values  the  pure* 
tender,  devoted  love  of  such  a  woman  as  Salome  Owen.,  — 
tramples  on  treasures  that  would  make  his  life  affluent  and 
blessed  —  that  neither  gold  can  purchase  nor  royalty  ;ompeL 
Under  your  guidance,  moulded  by  your  influence,  she  would 
become  a  noble  voman,  —  of  whom  any  man  might  ju&tlj 
be  proud." 

Fearful  that  she  had  already  incurred  his  displeasure,  and  iu> 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  Z>O  SART.  44  a 

willing  to  meet  his  eye,  she  turned  quickly  ;m<l  mad-;   _er  esau* 
'.b  rough  tho  open  door. 

In  the  bright  glow  of  that  lovely  spring  day,  the  2alrn  fan' 
of  TJlpiau  Grey  seemed  scarcely  older  than  on  the  afienioox, 
srtu'-r  he  came  to  make  the  farm  his  home  ;  and  though  pah'r 
And  Ciphered  over  by  the  leaden  finger  of  anxiety,  it  indexed 
link-  of  the  long,  fierce  strife,  that  conscience  had  waged  with 


Lighter  and  more  impulsive  natures  expend  themselves  in 
•pasmodic  and  violent  ebullitions,  but  the  great  deep  of  thin 
man's  serene  character  had  never  stirred,  until  the  one  mighty 
love  of  his  life  had  lashed  it  into  a  tempest  that  tossed  his  hope? 
like  sea-froth,  and  finally  engulfed  the  only  rosy  dream  of  wed 
ded  happiness  that  had  ever  Hushed  his  quiet,  solitary,  sedate 
existence. 

Having  kept  his  heart  in  holy  subjection  to  the  law  of  Christ, 
he  did  not  quail  and  surrender  when  the  great  temptation  ros«', 
bearing  the  banner  of  insurrection  ;  but  sternly  and  daimtlesslj 
fronted  the  shock,  and  kept  inviolate  the  citadel,  garrisoned  by 
on  invincible  and  consecrated  will. 

The  yearning  tenderness  of  his  strong,  tranquil  soul,  had  en 
folded  Mrs.  Carry  le,  drawing  her  more  and  more  into  the  ]>ene- 
tralia  of  his  affection;  but  from  the  hour  in  which  he  learned 
her  history  he  had  torn  away  the  clinging  tendrils  of  love,  — 
had  endeavored  to  expel  her  from  his  heart,  and  to  stitle  its 
wail  for  the  lost  idol. 

Week  after  week,  month  after  month,  he  had  driven  every 
day  within  sight  of  the  blue  smoke  that  curled  above  the  trees 
at  "  Solitude,"  but  never  even  for  an  instant  checked  his  horse 
to  gaze  longingly  towards  the  Eden  whence  he  had  A  oh  t  tarily 
exiled  himself. 

There  were  hours  when  his  hear*  ached  for  tho  sight  i  th:<( 
white  face  he  had  loved  so  madly,  and  the  sound  of  tho 
mournfully  sweet  voice,  —  and  his  hand  trembled  at  the  recol 
lection  of  the  soft,  cold,  snowy  fingers,  tljat  once  thrilled  hi* 
but  he  treated  these  utterances  of  his  heart,  as  merci 


446  UNTIL  DEATH  U3  DO  PART. 

lessly  as  the  Imnter  who  cheers  his  dogs  in  the  chase  vvteie  tha 
death-cry  of  the  victim  rings  above  bark  and  halloo. 

"N^o  wall  of  division,  no  sea  of  separation,  woxild  have  proved 
ao  effectual,  so  insurmountable,  as  his  own  firm  resolve  that  his 
ftrtHhly  path  should  never  cross  that  of  one  whom  God's 
ttetutes  had  set  apart  until  death  annulled  the  decr?e.  In  thi» 
torturing  ordeal  he  was  strengthened  by  the  conviction  that  he 
ilone  suffered  for  his  folly,  —  that  Mrs.  Carlyle  was  a  sti-unger 
tc  feelings  that  robbed  him  of  sleep,  and  clouded  his  days, — 
tha4.  tho  heaving  tide  of  his  devoted  love  had  nrokeii  against 
her  frozen  heart  as  idly  as  the  surges  of  the  sea  that  die  in 
foam  upon  the  dreary,  mysterious  ruins  of  the  Serapeon  at  Poz- 
zuoli. 

In  the  silent  watches  of  the  night,  as  he  pondered  the  brief, 
beautiful  vision  that  had  so  completely  fascinated  him,  he  reve 
rently  thanked  God  that  the  woman  he  loved  had  never  reci 
procated  his  affection,  and  was  not  sitting  in  the  ashes  of  deso 
lation,  mourning  his  absence.  Striving  to  interest  himself  more 
and  more  in  Stanley  and  Jessie,  who  had  become  inordinately 
fond  of  him,  his  thoughts  continually  reverted  to  Salome,  and 
that  subtle  sympathy  which  springs  from  the  "  fellow  Leing," 
that  makes  us  "  wondrous  kind  "  to  those  whose  pangs  are  fierce 
as  ours,  began  faintly  and  shyly,  but  surely,  to  assert  itself. 
A  shadowy,  intangible  self-reproach  brooded  like  a  phantom 
over  his  generous  heart,  when,  amidst  the  uncertainty  that 
seemed  to  overhang  the  orphan's  fate,  he  remembered  the  num 
berless  manifestations  of  almost  idolatrous  affection  which  he 
had  coldly  repulsed. 

In  the  earnest  interest  that  day  by  day  deepened  in  the  ab 
sent  girl,  there  was  no  pitiable  vanity,  no  inflated  self-love, 
but  a  seem  realization  of  the  anguish  and  humiliation  that  must 
fcow  be  her  portion,  and  a  magnanimous  eagerness  to  endeavor 
to  cheer  a  heart  whose  severest  woes  had  sprung  from  his 
in  difference. 

More  than  a  year  had  elapsed,  and  no  letter  had  ever  reached 
him,  —  not  even  a  message  in  her  two  brief  epistles  to  Stanley 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

and  T)r.  Orey  missed  the  bright,  perverse  element  rluir  DO  ;<•. ;••?•':. 
thwarted  lain  at  every  turn. 

He  longed  to  see  the  proud,  girlish  face,  with  its  llasl'iir.*;  s".v/-i, 
sind  red  lips,  and  the  haughty  toss  of  the  large,  handsome  heaii ; 
*ad  the  angry  tones  of  her  voice  would  have  heen  welcome 
sounds  in  the  house  where  she  hud  so  long  tyrannized.  To-day, 
'**  inpian  Orey  safc  in  his  own  little  sitting-room,  his  eves  wer.e 
ax.etl  on  a  copy  of  Rembrandt's  Nicholas  T'ldp,  which  hung  over 
:i.e  mantelpiece  ;  but  the  mysteries  of  anatomy  no  longer  riv 
eted  his  attention,  and  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  memories 
of  a  fond  though  wayward  girl,  whom  his  indifference  had 
driven  to  foreign  lands,  —  to  unknown  and  fearful  perils. 

Through  the  windows  stole  the  breath  of  Salome's  violets, 
and  the  sweet,  spicy  odor  of  the  Belgian  honeysuckle  that  sha 
had  planted  and  twined  around  the  mossy  columns  that  sup 
ported  the  gallery;  and  with  a  sigh  ho  closed  his  eyes,  shut 
out  the  anatomy  of  tlesh,  and  began  the  dissection  of  euio 

tlOBS. 

Could  Salome's  radiant  face  brighten  his  home,  and  win  hia 
heart  from  its  devouring  regret  ?  Would  it  be  possible  for  him 
to  give  her  the  place  whence  he  had  ejected  Mrs.  Carlyle? 
Could  he  ever  persuade  himself  to  call  that  fair,  passionate 
young  thing,  that  capricious,  obstinate,  maliciously  perverse 
girl,  —  his  wife  ? 

Involuntarily  he  frowned,  fur  while  pity  pleaded  for  the  refu 
gee  from  home  and  happiness,  the  man's  honest  nature  scouted 
all  shams,  and  he  acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  could  never 
feel  the  need  of  her  lips  or  hands,  —  could  never  insult  her 
womanhood,  or  degrade  his  own  nature,  by  folding  to  his  heart 
OJie  whose  touch  possessed  nc  magnetism,  whose  presence  ex 
erted  no  spell  over  Ms  home. 

Salome,  his  friend,  his  adopted  sister, he  vished  to  discover,  to 
daim,  and  restore  to  the  household;  but  Salome,  his  wife,— 
was  a  monstrous  imaginary  incubus  that  uppalled  and  repelled 
him. 

The  difficulties  that  presented  themselves  at  the  outset  of  hia 


*4tt  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART. 

search  would  have  discouraged  a  less  resolute  temperament,  but 
it  was  part  of  his  wise  philosophy,  that  — 

"  We  overstate  the  ills  of  life.     We  walk  upon 
The  shadow  of  hills  across  a   evel  thrown.. 
And  pant  like  cumbers. " 

As  a  pitying  older  brother,  he  thought  of  Salomo's  suwxj 
foibles,  —  of  her  noble  intentions  and  ignoble  executioi  J3,  —  of 
her  few  feeble  triumphs,  her  numerous  egregious  failures  in  tha 
line  of  duty;  and  loving  Christian  charity  pleaded  eloquently 
for  her,  whispering  to  his  generous  soul,  "  We  know  the  ships 
that  come  with  streaming  pennons  into  the  immortal  ports ;  but 
we  know  little  of  the  ships  that  have  taken  fire  on  the  way 
thither,  —  that  have  gone  down  at  sea." 

What  pure  friendship  could  accomplish  he  would  not  with 
hold,  and  life  at  the  farm  was  not  so  attractive  now  that  he  felt 
ragret  at  the  prospect  of  temporary  absence. 

The  disappointment  that  had  so  rudely  smitten  to  the  earth 
the  one  precious  hope  born  of  his  acquaintance  with  "  Soli 
tude,"  had  no  power  to  embitter  his  nature,  —  to  drape  the 
world  in  drab,  or  to  shroud  the  future  with  gloom ;  and  though 
his  noble  face  was  sadder  and  paler,  Christian  faith  and  resigna 
tion  rang  blessed  chimes  of  peace  in  heart  and  soul,  and  made 
his  life  a  hallowed  labor  of  love  for  the  needy  and  grief-stricken. 
To-day,  as  he  sat  alone  at  the  south  window,  he  could  overlook 
the  fields  of  "  Grassmere,"  where  the  rich  promise  of  golden 
harvest  "  filled  in  all  beauty  and  fulness  the  emerald  cup  of  tha 
hills,"  and  the  waving  grain  rippled  in  light  and  shade  like  the 
billows  of  some  distant  sunset  sea.  Basking  in  the  balmy  sun 
shine,  and  contemplating  his  approaching  departure  for  Euiopex 
a  sudden  longing  seized  him  to  look  once  more  on  the  face  of 
Vashti  Carlyle,  before  he  bade  farewell  to  his  homo. 

She  was  in  feeble  health,  and  might  not  survive  his  absence, 
and,  moreover,  what  harm  could  result  from  one  final  visit  to 
"Solitude,"  —  from  a  few  parting  words  to  its  desolate  mis- 
irese?  She  had  sent  a  message  through  Robert,  that  she  would 


UNTIL    DEATH  US  DO  PART.  4*9 

b©  glad  to  see  Dr.  Grey  whenever  he  could  find  leisure  to  call, 
and  now  hungry  heart  and  soul  cried  out  savagely,  — 

"Why  not?     Why  not?" 

His  heavy  brows  knitted  a  little,  and  his  mouth  gre-*r  rigid  as 
iron,  but  after  some  moments  the  lips  relaxed,  and  with  a  sad, 
patient  smile,  he  repeated  those  stirring  words  of  Bichter  t'j 
Pieman, — "  Suffer  like  a  man  the  Alp-piessure  of  fate.  Trua^. 
yourself  upon  the  broad,  shining  wings  of  your  faith,  and 
make  them  bear  you  over  the  Dead  Sea,  so  as  not  to  fall 
spiritually  dead  within." 

"No,  no,  Ulpian  Grey,  —  keep  yourself  'unspotted  from  the 
world.'  Strangle  that  one  temptation  which  borrows  the  gar 
ments  of  an  angel  of  light  and  mercy,  and  dogs  you,  sleeping 
and  waking.  I  will  see  her  no  more  till  death  snaps  her 
fetters,  and  I  can  meet  her  in  the  presence  of  God,  who  alone 
can  know  what  separation  costs  me.  May  He  grant  her  strength 
to  bear  her  lonely  lot,  and  give  me  grace  to  be  patient  even 
unto  the  end,  bringing  no  reproach  on  the  sacred  faith  I  profess." 

It  was  the  final  struggle  between  love  and  duty,  and  though 
the  vanquished  heart  wailed  piteously,  exultant  conscience, 
'ike  Jupiter  of  old,  triumphantly  applauded,  "  Evan,  evoe !  " 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

ANTED  ! -—  Information     of    Salome   Owen,  who   "will 
confer   a   favor  on  her  <Yiends,  and  secure   a  handsome 

legacy  by  calling  at  No.  —  — ." 

"Dr.  Grey,  for  six  months  this  advertisement  has  appeared 
every  morning  in  two  :-f  the  most  popular  journals  in  Paris, 
and  as  it  has  elicited  t^>  clew  to  her  whereabouts,  J  am  reluc 
tantly  compelled  to  believe  that  she  is  no  longer  in  France." 

Mr.   Granville  refolded  the  newspaper,   anr1   \msied   himself 
in  filling  and  lighting  his  meerschaum. 
38* 


450  UNTIL  DttATU   US  DO  PART. 

"By  whom  was  that  notice  inserted?  " 

"  By  M.  de  Bailhi,  the  agent  arid  banker  of  Mr.  Minge  cf 
Boston,  who  was  warmly  and  sincere'y  attached  to  youi  pr& 
tegee,  and  earnestly  endeavored  to  marry  her.  When  slie  left 
Palermo,  Mr,  Minge  came  to  this  city  and  solicited  vay  aid 
i&  discovering  her  retreat.'' 

"  Pardon  me,  but  why  did  he  apply  to  you  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  he  knew  that  [  was  an  old  acquAin.}*!^ 
Mid  he  bad  seen  me.  with  her,  when  she  tirst  came  froaa 
America." 

"  How  did  you  ascertain  her  presence  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Accidentally ;  one  night,  at  the  opera,  whither  she  accom 
panied  Professor  Y ,  I  re-cognized  her,  and  of  course  made 

myself  known.  To  what  shall  I  ascribe  the  honor  of  this  rigid 
cross-questioning  ?  " 

"  To  reasons  which  F  shall  very  freely  give  you.  But  first, 
permit  me  to  beg  that  you  will  resume  your  narrative  at  the 
point  where  I  interrupted  you.  I  wish  to  learn  all  that  can 
be  told  concerning  Mr.  Minge." 

"  He  was  an  elderly  man  of  ordinary  appearance,  but  extraor 
dinary  fortune,  and  seemed  completely  fascinated  by  Salome's 
beauty.  He  offered  a  large  reward  to  the  police  for  any  clew 
that  would  enable  him  to  discover  her,  and  iinally  found  '.he 
physician  whom  she  had  consulted  with  reference  to  oome 
disease  of  the  throat,  which  occasioned  the  loss  of  her  voice. 
He  had  prescribed  for  her  several  times,  oxit  knew  nothing 
of  her  lodging-place,  as  she  always  called  at  his  office ;  and 
finally,  without  assigning  any  reason,  her  -visits  ceased.  Mr. 
Miuge  redoubled  his  exertions,  and  at  last  found  her  ic  one 
of  the  hospitals  connected  with  a  convent.  The  Sisters  o/ 
Cliarity  informed  him  that  one  bleak  day  when  the  rain  was 
foiling  drearily,  they  chanced  to  see  a  woman  stagger  and  drop 
on  the  pavement  before  their  door,  and,  hurrying  to  her  assi-st- 
ance,  discovered  that  she  l_ad  swooned  from  exhaustion.  A 
bundle  of  unfinished  needle-work  was  hidden  under  her  shawl, 
and  they  soon  ascertained  that  she  was  delirious  from  foms 
low  typhus  fever  that  had  utterly  prostrated  her.  For  so  v  era) 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  4r>l 

weeks  she  was  dangerously  ill,  and  was  just  able  to  s.t  up  when 
Mr,  Minge  discovered  her.  Ho  told  me  that  it  was  distreBsing 
and  painful  beyond  expression  to  witness  her  humiliation, 
her  wounded  pride,  her  defiant  rejection  of  his  rene-w-jd  oifei 
of  marriage.  One  day  he  took  his  sister  Constance  and  a 
mkaster  of  the  gospel  to  the  hospital,  and  implored  Saloma 
(o  become  his  wife,  then  and  there.  He  said  she  wept  bitterly 
and  thanked  him,  thanked  his  sister  also,  but  solemnly  assmixjcl 
him  she  could  never  marry  any  one,  —  she  would  sooner  starve 
in  the—" 

Dr.  Grey  raised  his  hand,  signalling  for  silence,  and  for  some 
moments  he  leaned  his  forehead  against  the  chair  directly  in 
front  of  him. 

Mr.  Granville  cleared  his  throat  several  times,  and  loosened 
his  neck-tie,  which  seemed  to  impede  his  breathing. 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?     There  is  little  more  to  tell." 

"  If  you  please,  Granville." 

"  Mr.  Minge  would  not  abandon  the  hope  of  finally  p<5i 
Buading  her  to  accept  his  hand,  but  next  day  when  he  called 
to  inquire  about  her  health,  and  to  request  the  sisters  to  watch 
her  movements,  and  prevent  her  escape,  lie  was  shocked  to 
learn  that  she  had  disappeared  the  previous  night,  leaving 
a  few  lines  written  in  pencil  on  a  handkerchief,  in  which 
she  had  wrapped  her  superb  suit  of  hair.  They  were  addressed 
to  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  and  briefly  expressed  her  gratitude 
for  their  kindness  in  providing  for  her  wants,  while  she  assured 
them  that  as  soon  as  possible  she  would  return  and  compensate 
them  for  their  services  in  her  behalf.  Meantime,  knowing 
the  high  juice  of  hair,  she  had  carefully  cut  oil'  her  own,  whicb 
w;i3  unusually  long  and  thick,  and  tendered  ii  in  part  payment 
When  she  WHS  taken  into  the  building,  her  nurse  found  cur, 
coaled  in  her  dress  a  very  elegant  watch,  bearing  her  name 
in  diamond  letters,  and  she  requested  that  the  sister"  would 
hold  it  in  pawn,  until  she  was  able  to  redeem  it.  During 
her  illness,  it  luui  been  locked  up,  and  they  supposed  she  K-i't 
it,  fearing  that  an  application  for  it  would  arouse  suspicions 
jf  her  intended  flight.  Mr.  Miiige  bought  the  hair  and  \.;,uti 


452  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO   PART. 

kerchief,  and,  after  a  liberal  remuneration  for  th°ir  tare  oi 
the  invalid,  he  took  charge  of  the  watch,  and  left  nis  addres* 
to  be  given  her  when  she  called  for  her  property.  That  hei 
mind  had  become  seriously  impaired,  there  can  be  little  doubt, 
since  nothing  but  insanity  can  explain  her  refusal  to  accept 
one  of  the  handsomest  estates  in  America.  Unfortunate] j , 
a  few  days  subsequent  to  her  departure  from  the  hospital 
Mr.  Minge  was  taken  very  violently  ill  with  pneumonia,  anti 
died.  Conscious  of  his  condition,  he  prepared  a  codicil  to  hia 
will,  and  bequeathed  to  Salome  twenty-five  thousand  dollars, 
and  an  elegant  house  and  lot  in  New-York  City.  He  exacted 
from  his  sister  a  solemn  promise  that  she  would  leave  no  means 
untried  to  ferret  out  the  wanderer,  to  whom  he  was  so  devotedly 
attached;  and,  should  all  eiforts  fail,  at  the  expiration  of  five 
years  the  legacy  should  revert  to  the  hospital  which  had  shel 
tered  her  in  the  hour  of  her  destitution.  The  watch  he  left 
with  his  sister  Constance ;  the  hair,  he  ordered  buried  with 
him.  Three  months  have  elapsed,  and  no  tidings  have  reached 
Miss  Minge,  who  remains  in  Paris  for  the  purpose  of  complying 
with  her  brother's  dying  request." 

"  My  poor,  perverse  Salome  !  To  what  desperate  extremities 
has  she  been  reduced  by  her  unfortunate  wilfulness.  Gerard, 
will  you  tell  me  frankly  your  own  conjecture  concerning  her 
fate?" 

"  If  alive,  I  believe  she  has  left  Europe." 
"  Upon  what  do  you  base  your  supposition  ?  " 
"  Mr.  Minge  was  convinced  that  her  attaclunent  to  BOine 
cue  in  America  was  the  insurmountable  barrier  to  his  succeoo 
as  a  suitor;  and,  if  so,  she  probably  returned  to  her  native 
land.  Dr.  Grey,  I  will  speak  candidly  to  you  of  a  matter 
which  lias  doubtless  given  you  some  disqxiiet.  Muriel  infornu 
me  that  you  have  no  confidence  in  the  sincerity  of  my  attach 
ment  to  her,  and  that  upon  that  fact  is  founded  your  refusal 
to  allow  the  consummation  of  our  engagement,  so  long  a* 
she  continues  your  ward.  I  confess  I  am  not  free  fix  m  censure, 
but,  while  I  have  acted  weakly,  I  am  not  devoid  of  principle. 
Sir,  I  was  strangely  and  powerfully  attracted  to  Salome  Owen 


UNTIL  DhATH   i'fi  J)O   PAUT.  4.r)3 

*nd  she  exerted  a  species  of  fascination  over  na  whioh  ! 
scarcely  endeavored  to  resist,.  In  an  evil  hou-,  infatuated 
by  her  face  and  her  marvellous  voice,  1  was  wild  enough  to 
offer  her  my  hand,  and  resolved  to  ask  Muriel  to  release  me. 
Dr.  Grey,  even  at  my  own  expense,  I  wish  to  exonerate  Salome 
who  never  for  an  instant,  by  word  or  look,  encouraged  mj 
madness.  She  repulsed  my  advances,  refused  eveiy  attention, 
and  when  I  rashly  uttered  words,  which,  I  admit,  were  treason 
able  to  Muriel,  she  almost  overwhelmed  me  with  her  fiery 
contempt  and  indignation,  —  threatening  to  acquaint  Muriel 
with  my  inconstancy,  and  appealing  to  my  honor  as  a  gentleman 
to  keep  inviolate  my  betrothal  vows.  Dr.  Grey,  if  my  heart 
temporarily  wandered  from  its  allegiance  to  your  ward,  it  was 
not  Salome's  fault,  for  in  every  respect  her  conduct  towards 
me  was  that  of  u  noble,  unselfish  Avoman,  who  scorned  to  gratify 
lier  vanity  at  the  expense  of  another's  happiness.  She  shamed 
me  out  of  my  folly,  and  her  stern  honesty  and  nobility  saved  me 
from  a  Inief  and  humiliating  career  of  dishonorable  duplicity 
Whether  living  or  dead,  I  OAve  this  tribute  to  the  pure  char 
acter  of  Salome  Owen." 

"Thank  HcaA-en !  I  hud  faith  in  her.  1  believed  her  too 
generous  to  stoop  to  a  flirtation  Avith  the  lover  of  her  friend  ; 
and,  deplorable  as  was  your  own  \veakness,  1  am  rejoiced, 
Gerard,  to  find  that  you  have  conquered  it.  Tell  Muriel  all 
that  you  have  confided  to  me,  and  in  her  hands  AVO  will  leave 
the  decision." 

"  Do  you  intend  to  prosecute  the  search  which  has  proved 
BO  fruitless  ?  " 

"  I  do.  She  has  not  returned  to  America,  —  she  is  here  some 
where ;  and,  living  or  dead,  I  must  and  Avill  find  her," 

Dr.  Grey  seemed  lost   in  perplexing  thought  for  some  time 
then  drew  a  sheet  of  paper   before   him,  arid  Avrote,  "  Ulpiat 
Grey    Avishen  to   see   Salome  Owen,   in   o-.der    to  communicate 
some  facts  which  will  iuduce    her  return    to  her  family;    and 
he  hopes  she  will  call  immediately  at  NJ.  Hue ." 

"Gerard,  pleasa  be  ,.    .,,   h.  ve  this  jiserted  in  oil 


454  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

the  leading  journals  in  the  city;  and  give  me  the  address  of 
Mr.  Minge's  agent." 

At  the  expiration  of  a  month,  spent  in  the  most  diligent 
y*t  unsuccessful  efforts  to  obtain  some  information  of  the 
wanderer,  Dr.  Grey  began  to  feel  discouraged,  —  to  yield  te 
melancholy  forebodings  that  an  untimely  death  had  ended  hei 
struggles  and  suffering. 

Once,  while  pacing  the  walks  in  the  Champs-Ely  s6es,  he  caught 
&  glidpse  of  a  face  that  recalled  Salome's,  and  started  eagerly 
forward ;  but  it  proved  that  of  a  Parisian  bonne,  who  waa 
romping  with  her  juvenile  charge. 

Again,  one  afternoon,  as  he  came  out  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Sulpice,  his  heart  bounded  at  sight  of  a  woman  who  leaned 
against  the  railing,  and  watched  the  play  of  the  fountain. 
When  he  approached  her  and  peered  eagerly  into  her  coun 
tenance,  blue  eyes  and  yellow  curls  mocked  his  hopes.  One 
morning,  while  he  walked  slowly  along  the  Hue  du  Faubourg 
St.  Honors,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  the  glitter  of  pretty 
baubles  in  the  liaison  de  la  JPensee,  and  he  entered  the  estab 
lishment  to  purchase  something  for  Jessie. 

While  waiting  for  his  parcel,  a  woman  came  out  of  a  rear 
apartment  and  passed  into  the  street,  and,  almost  snatching 
his  package  from  the  counter,  he  followed. 

A  few  yards  in  advance  was  a  graceful  but  thin  figure, 
clad  in  a  violet-colored  muslin,  with  a  rather  dingy  silk  scarf 
wound  around  her  shoulders.  A  straw  hat,  with  a  wreath 
of  faded  pink  roses,  drooped  over  her  face,  and  streamers  of 
black  lace  hung  behind,  while  over  the  whole  she  had  thrown 
&  thin  gray  veil. 

Dr.  Grey  liad  not  seen  a  feature,  but  the  pose  of  the  shoulders, 
the  haughty  poise  of  the  head,  the  quick,  nervous,  elastic  step, 
and,  above  all,  the  peculiar,  free,  childish  swinging  of  the  le^l 
arm,  made  Ms  despondent  heart  throb  with  renewed  hope. 

Keeping  sufficiently  near  not  to  lose  sight  of  her,  he  walked 
on  and  on,  down  cross  streets,  up  narrow  alleys,  towards  a 
quarter  of  the  city  with  which,  he  was  unacquainted.  The 
woman  never  looked  back,  rarely  turned  her  head,  even  to 


UNTIL  DEATB  ITfi  f>n  PA.*""  <*;>» 

giance  at  those  \vko  passed  hf>r?  a/vi  crdy  once  e,,:c  y.  wised  Mbr* 
»  flower-stall,  and  seemed  to  price  a  bunch  of  carnations,  -whivli 
she  smelled,  laid  down  again,  and  then  hurried  oc. 

Dr.  Grey  quickly  paid  for  the;  cluster,  and  hasxmed  afcet    .<jr. 

In  turning  a  corner,  she  dropped  a  small  parcel  thai  sin  h;i>i 
2«,rried  under  her  scarf,  and  as  she  stooped  to  pick  it  xip,  he? 
veil  floated  off.  She  caught  it  ere  it  reached  the  ground,  in<? 
when  she  raised  her  hands  to  spread  it  over  her  hat,  the  loosn 
open  sleeves  of  her  dress  slipped  back,  and  there,  ou  the  lofi 
arm,  was  a  long,  zigzag  scar,  like  a  serpentine  bracelet. 

With  great  difficulty  Dr.  Grey  stilled  a  cry  of  joy,  and 
waited  until  she  had  gained  some  yards  in  advance. 

The  woman  was  so  absorbed  in  reverie  that  she  did  not 
notice  the  steady  tramp  of  her  pursuer,  but  as  the  number 
of  persons  on  the  street  gradually  diminished,  he  prudentlj 
fell  back,  fearing  lest  her  suspicion  should  be  excited. 

At  a  sudden  bend  in  the  crooked  alley  which  she  rapidly 
threaded,  ho  lost  sight  of  her,  and,  running  a  few  yards,  he 
turned  the  angle  just  in  time  to  see  the  flutter  of  her  dress 
and  scarf,  as  she  disappeared  through  a  postern,  that  opened 
in  a  crumbling  brick  wall. 

Above  the  gate  a  battered  tin  sign  swung  in  the  wind,  and 
dim  letters,  almost  effaced  by  elemental  warfare,  announced, 
".Adi-le  Aubin,  JBlanchisseitse." 

Dr.  Grey  passed,  through  the  postern,  and  found  himself 
in  a  narrow,  dark  court,  near  a  tall,  dingy,  dilapidated  hour*), 
where  a  girl  ten  years  of  ago  sat  playing  with  two  rugged, 
unti'ly  children. 

li  was  a  dreary,  comfortless,  uninviting  place,  and  a  greenish 
slime  overspread  the  lower  portions  of  tin  wall,  and  coutaJ 
the  uneven  pavement. 

From  the  girl,  who  chatted  with  genuiro  French  volubility 
Mid  freedom,  Dr.  Grey  learned  that  her  father  was  an  attach* 
of  a  barber-shop,  and  her  inoMier  a  washer  and  renovator 
of  laces  and  embroideries.  The  latter  was  absent,  and,  in 
answer  to  his  inquiries,  tho  child  informed  him  that  an  upi*>r 
room  in  this  cheerless  building  was  occupied  by  a  young  fe/nalc 
lodger,  who  held  no  intercourse  with  its  other  inmates. 


456  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

Placing  a  five-franc  piece  in  her  hand,  the  visitor  aaked  th* 
name  of  the  lodger,  but  the  girl  replied  that  she  was  known 
to  them  only  as  "La  J)entelli(ire"  and  lived  quite  alone  in 
*0be  right-hand  room  at  the  top  of  the  third  flight  of  stairs. 

The  parley  had  already  occupied  twenty  minutes,  when  Dr. 
Urey  cut  it  short  by  mounting  the  narrow,  winding  steps. 
Fhe  atmosphere  was  close,  and  redolent  of  the  fumes  of  dishes  noi 
K>  popular  in  America  as  in  France,  and  he  saw  that  the  different 
3oors  of  this  old  tenement  were  rented  to  lodgers  who  cooked, 
ite,  and  slept  in  the  same  apartment.  At  the  top  of  the  last 
tliin  flight  of  steps,  Dr.  Grey  paused,  almost  out  of  breath ; 
and  found  himself  on  a  narrow  landing-place,  fronting  two 
attic  rooms.  The  one  on  the  right  was  closed,  but  as  he  softly 
took  the  bolt  in  his  hand  and  turned  it,  there  floated  through 
the  key-hole  the  low  subdued  sound  of  a  sweet  voice,  humming 
"Infelice." 

It  was  not  the  deep,  rich,  melting  voice,  that  had  arrested  hia 
drive  when  first  he  heard  it  on  the  beach,  but  a  plaintive,  thrill- 
big  echo,  full  of  pathos,  yet  lacking  power ;  like  the  notes  of  birds 
when  inoulting-season  ends,  and  the  warblers  essay  their  old 
strains.  Cautiously  he  opened  the  door  wide  enough  to  permit 
him  to  observe  what  passed  within. 

The  room  was  large,  low,  and  irregularly  shaped,  with  neither 
tire-place  nor  stove,  and  only  one  dormer  window  opening  to 
the  south,  and  upon  a  wide  waste  of  tiled  roofs  and  smoking 
chimneys.  The  floor  was  bare,  except  a  strip  of  faded  carpet 
stretched  in  front  of  a  small  single  bedstead  ;  and  the  additional 
furniture  consisted  of  two  chairs,  a  tall  table  where  hung  a 
mirror,  and  a  washstand  that  held  beside  bowl  and  pitcher 
a  candlestick  and  china  cup.  On  the  table  were  serersJ  books, 
a  plate  and  knife,  and  a  partially  opened  package  disclosed 
«,  loaf  of  bread,  some  cheese,  and  an  apple. 

In  front  of  the  window  a  piece  of  plank  had  been  rudely 
fastened,  and  here  stood  two  wooden  boxes  containing  a  few 
violets,  mignonette,  and  one  very  luxuriant  rose-geranium. 

The  faded  blue  cambric  curtain  was  twisted  into  a  knot, 
and  as  it  was  now  nearly  noon,  the  sun  shone  in  and  made 
»  patch  of  gold  on  the  .stained  and  dusky  floor. 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  LV  PART.  4  ft  7 

On  the  bed  lay  the  stra-v  hat,  garlanded  -with  roses  that  had 
tost  their  primitive  tints,  and  before  the  window  in  a  low  ehau 
sat  the  lonely  lodger. 

On  her  knees  rested  a  cushion,  across  wnich  was  stretched 
ft  parchment  pattern,  bristling  with  pins,  and  with  bobbins 
fche  was  swiftly  knitting  a  piece  of  gossamer  lace,  by  throwing 
iii6  fine  threads  around  the  pins. 

( )ver  the  floor  lloated  her  delicate  lilac  dress,  and  the  sleeves 
were  looped  back  to,  escape  the  forest  of  pins. 

Dr.   Grey  had    only  a    three-quarter  view  of  the  face  that 

bent  over  the  cushion,  and  though  it  was  sadly  altered  in  every 

lineament,  —  was  whiter  and  thinner  than  he  had  ever  seen  it, 

—  yet  it  was   impossible    to  mistake   the   emaciated    features 

of  Salome  Owen. 

The  large,  handsome  head,  had  been  shorn  of  its  crown  of 
glossy  braids  that  once  encircled  it  like  a  jet  tiara,  and  the 
short  locks  clustered  with  childlike  grace  and  beauty  around 
the  gleaming  white  brow  and  temples. 

There  was  not  a  vestige  of  color  in  the  whilom  scarlet  mouth, 
whose  thin  lines  were  now  scarcely  perceptible  ;  and,  in  the  finer 
oval  of  her  cheeks,  and  along  the  polished  chin,  the  purplish 
veins  showed  their  delicate  tracery.  The  hands  were  waxen 
and  almost  transparent,  and  the  figure  was  wasted  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  symmetry. 

In  the  knot  of  ribbon  that  fastened  her  narrow  linen  collar, 
she  had  arranged  a  sprig  of  mignonette,  that  now  dropped  upon 
the  cushion  as  she  bent  over  it.  She  paused,  brushed  it  of?", 
s,nd  for  a  few  seconds  her  beautiful  hazel  eyes  were  fixed  on 
ilie  blue  sky  that  bordered  her  window. 

"3  he  whole  expression  of  her  coun(en;uico  had  changed,  and 
f.he  passionate  defiance  of  other  days  had  given  place  to  a  sad 
patient  hopelessness,  touching  indeed,  when,  seen  on  her  proud 
features.  Slowly  she  threw  her  bobbins,  and  a  fragment  of 
"lufflice"  seemed  to  drift  across  her  trembling  lips, that  showed 
snme  lines  of  bitterness  in  their  time-chiselling. 

As  Dr.  Grey  watched  her,  t'-an;  which  he  could  not  retrain 
39 


468  UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART. 

trickled  down  his  face,  -ind  he  vas  starting  forward,  when  she 
gaid,  as  if  communing  with  her  own  desolate  soul, — 

"  I  wonder  if  I  am  growing  superstitious.  Last  night  I 
dreamed  incessantly  of  Jessie  and  home,  and  to-day  I  can  not 
help  thinking  that  something  has  happened  there.  Home ' 
When  people  no  longer  have  a  borne,  how  hard  it  is  to  forget 
that  blessed  home  which  sheltered  them  in  the  early  yean* 
Homeless!  that  is  the  dreariest  word  that  human  misery  evei 
conjectured  or  human  language  clethed.  Never  mind,  Salome 
Owen,  when  God  snatched  your  voice  from  you,  He  became 
responsible ;  and  your  claims  are  like  the  ravens  and  sparrows, 
und  He  must  provide.  After  all,  it  matters  little  where  we  are 
housed  here  in  the  clay,  and  llobbs  was  astute  when  he  selected 
for  the  epitaph  on  his  tombstone, '  This  is  the  true  philosopher's 
btone.'  Home !  Ah,  if  I  sadly  missed  my  heart's  home,  here 
in  the  flesh,  I  shall  surely  find  it  up  yonder  in  the  blessed  land 
of  blue." 

A  tear  glided  down  her  cheek,  glistened  an  instant  on  hei 
chin,  and  fell  on  her  pattern.  She  brushed  it  away,  and  smiled 
sorrowfully,  — 

"  It  is  ill-omened  to  sprinkle,  bridal  lace  with  tears.  Some 
d:>y  this  fine  web  will  droop  around  a  bride's  white  shoulders 
«id  after  a  time  it  may  serve  to  deck  the  cold  limbs  of  some 
dead  child  If  I  could  only  have  my  shroud  now,  I  would  not 
make  lace  a  desideratum;  serge  or  sackcloth  would  be  welcome. 
Fatience, — 

'What  if  the  bread 

Be  bitter  in  thine  inn,  and  thou  unshod 
To  meet  the  flints  ?    At  least  it  may  bo  said, 
Because  the  way  is  short,  I  thank  thee,  God ! ' " 

She  partially  rose  in  her  chair,  and  took  from  the  table  * 
volume  of  poems.  After  some  search,  she  found  ^he  desired 
passage,  and,  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  she  read  it  aloud  in  s 
lew,  measured  tone, — 

' '  O  dreary  life      we  cry.     '  O  dreary  life  I ' 
And  still  the  generations  cf  the  hirds 
Kit,£  thronjrb  our  >;;glimo.  and  ti*«  flocks  and  herds 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  4M 

Serenely  live,  wflile  we  are  keeping  strife 
With  heaven's  true  purpose  in  us,  as  a  knife 
Against  which  we  may  struggle !     Ocean  girda 
Unslackened  the  dry  land,  savannah-awards 
Uuweary  sweep,  —  hills  watch  unworn ;  and  rife 
Meek  leaves  drop  yearly  from  the  forest-trees, 
To  show  above  the  unwasted  stars  that  paea 
In  their  old  glory.      0  thon  Cod  of  old, 
Grant  me  some  smaller  grace  than  comes  to  tliene  ' 
But  even  so  much  pitience,  as  a  blade  of  grans 
Grows  by,  contented  thrmiglt,  the  Jieat  and  cold.1 " 

<5  book  slipped  from  her  fingers  and  fell  upon  the  floor,  and 
a  sob  the  girl  bowed  her  head  in  her  hands. 

Quickly  the  intruder  glided  unseen  into  the  room,  and  stood 
at  the  back  of  her  chair. 

He  knew  she  was  praying,  and  almost  breathlessly  waited 
several  minutes. 

At  last  she  raised  her  face,  and  while  tears  trembled  on  her 
lashes,  she  said  meekly,  — 

"  I  ought  not  to  complain  and  repine.  I  will  be  patient  and 
trust  God ;  for  1  can  afford  to  suffer  all  through  time,  provided 
I.  may  spend  eternity  with  Christ  and  Dr.  Grey." 

"  Oh,  Salome !  Thank  God,  we  shall  be  separated  neither 
in  time  nor  in  eternity !  Dear  wanderer,  come  back  to  youi 
brother!" 

]  le  stepped  before  her,  and  involuntarily  held  out  his  arms. 

She  neither  screamed  nor  fainted,  but  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
4  rapture  that  beggars  ail  description  irradiated  her  worn, 
s'eary,  pallid  face. 

"  Is  it  really  you  ?  Oh !  a  thousand  times  I  have  dreamed 
ihat  I  saw  you,  —  stood  by  you;  but  when  I  tried  to  touch 
}ou,  there  was  nothing  but  empty  air!  Oh,  Dr.  Grey!  —  my 
Or  Grey  !  Am  I  only  dreaming,  here  in  the  sunshine,  or  ia  it 
70-0  bodily?  Did  you  care  for  me  a  little?  Did  you  come  to 
&id  me?" 

She  grasped  his  arm,  swept  her  hands  up  and  down  hi* 
tleevo,  and  then,  he  saw  her  reel,  and  shut  her  eyes,  and  shudder- 

"My  poor  child,  I  came  to  I'r.ris  solely  to  hunt  for  my  way 
ward  Salome,  and,  than!;  God  !  I  have  found  her." 


460  UNTIL  DEATff  US  DO  PART.. 

lie  put  Ms  arm  around  her,  and  placed  b.er  head  against  .ill 
shoulder. 

Ah,  how  his  generous  heart  ached,  as  ho  noted  the  hungry 
delight  with  which  her  splendid  eyes  lingered  on  his  features, 
%n.d  the  convulsive  tenacity  with  which  she  clung  to  him,  trem- 
^Ling  -with  excess  of  joy  that  brought  back  carmine  to  h» 
wasted  lips  and  carnation  bloom  to  her  blanched  cheeks. 

1  1  o  heard  her  whispering,  and  knew  it  was  a  prayer  of  thank* 
gi  ring  for  the  blessing  of  his  presence. 

But  very  soon  a  change  came  over  her  sparkling,  happy  face, 
like  an  inky  cloud  across  a  noon  sky,  and  he  felt  a  shiver  steal 
ing  through  her  form. 

"  Let  me  go  !  You  said  once,  that  when  I  came  to  Europe 
to  enter  on  my  professional  career,  you  wished  never  to  touch 
my  hands  again,  —  you  would  consider  them  polluted." 

"Dear  Salome,  I  recant  all  those  harsh,  unjust  words,  whicL 
were  uttered  when  I  was  not  fully  aware  of  the  latent  strength 
of  your  character.  Since  then,  I  have  learned  much  from  Profes 
sor  V  -  ,  and  from  Gerard  Granville,  that  assures  me  my  noble 
friend  is  all  I  could  desire  her,  —  that  she  has  grandly  conquered 
her  faults,  and  is  worthy  of  the  admiration,  the  perfect  confi 
dence,  the  earnest  affection,  which  her  adopted  brother  offers  her. 
Your  pure,  true  heart  makes  pure  hands,  and  as  such  I  reve 
rently  salute  them." 

He  took  her  hands,  raised  and  kissed  them  respectfully, 
tenderly. 

She  hid  her  burning  face  on  his  bosom,  and  there  was  a  short 


"  Sa«ome,  sit  down  and  let  me  talk  to  you  of  home,  —  you* 
ionie.  Have  you  no  questions  to  ask  about  your  pet  sister 
*nd  brother  ?  " 

He  attempted  to  release  himself,  but  she  clung  to  him,  and 
ilasping  her  arms  around  his  neck,  said  in  a  strained,  husky 
tone,  — 

"  Dr.  Grey,  did  you  bring  your  —  your  wife  to  Paris?  " 

"  I  have  no  wife." 

She  uttered  a  thrilling  cry  of  Jelight,  threw  her  head  back, 
itnd  gazed  steadily  into  his  clear,  calm,  blue  eyes 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAliT.  46 i 

**  Oh,  sir,  they  told  me  you  had  married  Mrs.  Gerorne." 

He  placed  her  in  the  chair,  and  kneeling  dowr  beside  her, 
took  her  quivering  face  in  his  palms  and  touched  her  forenead 
softly  with  his  lips. 

"  The  only  woman  I  ever  wished  to  muke  ray  wife  is  bouii': 
tor  life  to  a  worthless  husband.  Salome,  I  loved  liei  before  } 
knew  this  fact ;  ana,  since  I  learned  (soon  after  your  dt  partuie) 
that  she  was  separated  from  the  man  whom  she  had  wedded,  I 
have  not  seen  her,  although  she  still  resides  at  '  Solitude.' 
Salome,  I  shall  never  marry,  and  I  ask  you  now  to  come  back 
to  Jessie  and  Stanley,  who  will  soon  require  your  care  and  guid' 
ance,  for  it  is  my  intention  to  return  to  the  position  in  the  U.  S. 
naval  service,  which  only  Janet's  feeble  health  induced  me  to 
resign.  God  bless  you,  dear  child !  I  wish  you  were  indeed 
nay  own  sister,  for  1  am  growing  very  proud  of  my  brave,  honest 
friend,  —  my  patient  lace-weaver." 

The  girl's  head  sank  lower  and  lower  until  it  touched  hot 
knees,  and  sobs  rendered  her  words  scarcely  audible. 

"  If  you  deem  me  worthy  to  be  called  your  friend,  it  is  be 
cause  of  your  example,  your  influence.  Oh,  Dr.  Grey,  —  but  for 
you,  —  but  for  my  hope  of  meeting  you  in  the  kingdom  of 
Christ,  I  shudder  to  think  what  I  might  have  been  !  Under 
all  circumstances  I  have  been  guided  by  what  I  imagined  would 
have  been  your  wishes,  —  your  advice;  and  my  reward  is  rich 
Indeed  !  Your  confidence,  your  approbation  !  Earth  holds  no 
recompense  half  so  precious." 

"  Thank  God  !  my  prayers  have;  been  abundantly  answered, 
!T.y  highest  hopes  of  your  future  fully  realixed.  Henceforth,  let 
as  with  renewed  energy  labor  faithfully  in  the  vast,  wliiteulog 
fields  of  Him  who  declares,  'The  harvest  is  plentiful,  but  the 
'aborers  are  few  ' ' 

"  O  Iranian  s«ul !  as  long  aa  thou  cdrmt  BO 
Set  up  a  mark  of  everlautLng  light, 
Above  the  howling  seiiocw'  ebb  and  flow, 
To  cheer  thee  and  to  right  thee  if  thou  roam, 
Not  with  lost  toil  thou  laborest  through  the  night, 
Thoi  makset  the  heaven  thou  hopest  indeed  thy  homs/ 


462  UNTIL  DEATU  (IS  D(j 


CHAPTER   XXXIY. 
"SAD  CASE  OF  MANIA  A  POTU." 

t'TCIIMAN  McDonough  reports  that  late  last  nigl.^ 
lie  picked  up,  on  the  sidewalk,  the  insensible  body  of 
Maurice  Caiiyle,  who  showed  some  signs  of  returning 
animation  after  his  removal  to  Station  House  No.  -  .  A 
physician  was  called  in,  and  every  elfort  made  to  save  the  un 
fortunate  victim  of  intemperance;  but  medical  skill  \va.s  intuie- 
quate  ~w  arrest  the  work  of  many  years  of  excess,  and  before 
daylight  the  wretched  man  expired  in  dreadful  convulsions. 
Coroner  Boutwel!  held  an  inquest  on  the  budy,  and  the  verdict 
rendei'ed  was  '  Death  from  mania  a  potuS  Mr.  Carlyle  was  well 
known.  in  this  city,  where  for  many  years  he  was  an  ornament  to 
society,  and  a  general  favorite  in  the  fashionable  and  mercantile 
circle  in  which  he  moved.  Of  numbers  who  were  once  the  recipi 
ents  of  his  bounty  and  hospitality,  none  offered  succor  in  the  hour 
of  adversity,  and  among  all  his  former  friends  none  were  found 
to  che^er  or  pity  in  the  last  ordeal  to  which  flesh  is  subjected. 
The  melancholy  fate  of  Maurice  Carlyle  furnishes  anothei  illus 
tration  of  the  mournful  truth  that  the  wages  of  intemperance 
are  destitution  and  desertion." 

Such  was  the  startling  announcement,  which,  under  the  head 
of  "  Police  Report,"  Dr.  Grey  read  and  re-read  in  a  prominent 
New-  York  paper  that  had  accidentally  remained  for  some  iaya 
atopened  on  his  desk,  and  was  dated  r.  early  a  month  previous, 
Looking  the  door  of  his  office,  he  sat  down  to  collect  his  bewil 
iored  thoughts,  and  to  quiet  the  tumult  in  his  throbbing  heart, 

During  the  two  years  that  had  drearily  worn  away  since  his 
ast  interview  with  Mrs.  Carlyle,  he  bal  sternly  forbidden  hiss 
mind  to  dwell  on  its  brief  dream  of  happiness,  and  by  a  life  of 
unusually  active  benevolence  endeavored  to  forget  the  one 
spisode  which  alone  had  power  to  disquiet  and  sadden  him. 

He  had  philosophically  schooled  himself  to  the  calm,  unmir 


UNTIL   DEATH  US  DO  PART.  463 

muring  acceptance  of  his  lonely  destiny,  and  looked  forwurd  to 
a  life  solitary  yet  not  unhappy,  although  uiioheered  by  the  lov* 
and  companionship  whicli  every  man  indulges  the  instinctive 
hope  will  sooner  or  later  crown  his  existence. 

Now  heart  and  conscience,  so  lonjr  at  deadly  feud,  siiadenl 

O  «.'  '  *, 

signalled    a    truce,    clasped    hands,  embraced   cordU^y.     Ho 
,?adiant    the    world    looked,  —  with   what   wondrous  glory    th 
future   had   in   the  twinkling    of    an    eye    robed  itself.       The 
woman  he  had  loved  was  stainless  and  free,  and  how  could  shfl 
long  resist  the  pleadings  of  his  famished  heart  ? 

He  would  win  her  from  cynicism  and  isolation,  would  melt 
her  frozen  nature  in  the  genial  atmosphere  of  his  pure  and 
constant  affection,  and  interweave  her  aimless,  sombre  life  with 
the  busy,  silvery  web  of  his  own 

After  forty  years,  God  would  grant  him  home,  and  wife,  and 
hearthstone  peace. 

What  a  flush  and  sparkle  stole  to  this  grave  man's  olive 
cheek,  and  calm,  deep  blue  eyes  ! 

Ah  !  how  hungrily  he  longed  for  the  touch  of  her  hand,  the 
Eight  of  her  face ;  and,  snatching  his  hat,  he  put  the  paper  in 
his  pocket,  and  hurried  towards  "  Solitude." 

In  the  holy  hush  of  that  hazy  autumnal  afternoon,  nature  — 


"The  altar-curtains  of  whoso  hills 

Are  sunset's  purple  air." 
"Who  dips  in  the  dim  lit,rht  of  setting  suns 

The  spacious  skirts  of  that  vast  robe  of  hera 

That  widens  ever  in  the  wondrous  west," 

slumbering  and  dreaming  away  the  day. 

The  forests  were  gaudy  in  their  painted  shrouds  of  scarla 
and  yellow  leaves,   and  long,  feathery  flakes   of  purple  bloo 
nodded  over  crimson  berries,  emerald  mosses,  and  golden-hearted 
asters. 

Only  a  few  weeks  previous,  Dr.  Grey  hud  driven  a  ong  that 
road,  and,  while  the  echo  of  harvest  hymns  rang  or  the  hay- 
scented  air,  had  asked  himself  how  men  and  women  coidd 


m 


464  UNTIL  DEATH  Dti  DO   PART. 

become  so  completely  absorbed  in  temporal  things,  ignoring  th« 
solemn  and  indisputable  fact  of  the  brevity  of  human  life  and 
the  restricted  dominion  of  man,  — 

"Whose  part  in  all  the  pomp  that  fills 
The  circuit  of  the  summer  hills 
Is,  that  his  grave  is  green. " 

But  to-day  all  sober-hued  reflections  were  exorcised  by  th« 
rapturous  Jubilate  that  hope  was  singing  through  the  sunlit 
chambers  of  his  happy  heart ;  and  when  he  entered  the  ground* 
of  "  Solitude "  they  seemed  bathed  in  that  soft  glamour,  that 
witching  "  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land." 

As  he  sprang  from  his  buggy  and  opened  the  little  gate  lead 
ing  into  the  pa/rterre,  Robert  came  slowly  forward,  bearing  a 
basket  filled  with  a  portion  of  the  crimson  apples  that  flushed 
the  orchard,  just  beyond  the  low  hedge. 

"  You  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  time  to  come,  Dr.  Grey; 
and  if  I  were  allowed  to  have  my  way  you  would  have  keen 
here  last  night.  Were  you  sent  for  at  last,  or  was  it  a  lucky 
chance  that  brought  you  ?  " 

"  Merely  an  accident,  as  I  received  no  summons.  Robert, 
how  is  your  mistress  ?  " 

"  God  only  knows,  sir ;  I  am  sure  ]  never  can  tell  how  she 
really  is.  She  has  not  seemed  well  since  she  took  that  journey 
to  the  North,  and  for  two  weeks  past  she  appears  to  have  been 
slipping  down  by  inches  into  her  grave.  She  neither  eats  nor 
sleeps,  and  for  the  last  three  nights  has  not  lain  down,  — so  old 
Ruth,  the  housekeeper,  tells  me.  Yesterday  I  begged  my  mis- 
fcross  to  let  me  go  for  you,  but  she  smiled  that  awful  freezing 
smile  that  strikes  to  the  very  marrow  of  my  bones,  worse 
than  December  sleet,  —  find  raised  her  finger  so:  and  said,  'At 
your  peril,  Robert.  Mind  your  orchard,  man,  and  J  will  takt 
care  of  myself.  I  want  neither  doctors  nor  nurses,  and  onlj 
desire  that  you,  and  Ruth,  and  Anna,,  will  attend  to  yo'ir  respec 
tive  duties  and  let  me  be  quiet.  All  will  soon  be  well  wj  ih  me.' 
I  killed  a  partridge,  had  it  nicely  broiled,  and  carried  it  to  her; 
uid  she  thanked  me,  and  macw  a  pretence  ef  eating  the  (ring, 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PART.  4G6 

just  to  please  me;  bvit  when  the  waiter  was  taken  away  to  t)u 
kitchen,  I  found  all  the  bird  ou  the  plate.  This  morning,  jusi 
before  daylight,  I  heard  her  playing  a  wild,  mournful  thing  on 
the  piano,  that  sounded  like  a  dirge  or  a  wtul;  and  llut.h  F.;>.I-F 
when  she  went  into  the  parlor  to  open  the  blinds,  she  ftr.n.f* 
ker  praying,  and  thinks  she  was  011  her  knees  for  an  hoi;.; 
Please  God!  sometimes  I  wish  she  was  in  heaven  with  niv 
Kxother,  for  she  will  never  see  any  peace  in  this  life." 

"  What  seems  to  be  the  disease  ?  " 

"  Heart-ache." 

"  You  should  have  come  and  told  me  this  long  ago." 

"And  pray  to  what  purpose,  Dr.  Grey?  She  vowed  she 
<vould  allow  no  human  being  to  cross  her  threshold,  except  the 
servants,  and  I  would  sooner  undertake  to  curl  a  steel,  or  make 
ringlets  out  of  a  pair  of  tongs,  than  bend  her  will  when  once 
she  takes  a  stand.  Humph  !  My  mistress  is  no  willow  wand, 
and  is  about  as  easily  moved  as  the  church-steeple,  or  the  stone- 
tower  of  the  lighthouse." 

"  Has  she  recently  received  letters  that  contained  tidings 
wliich  excited  or  distressed  her?  " 

"  A  letter  came  last  week,  but  I  know  nothing  of  its  contents. 
You  need  not  go  into  the  house  if  you  wish  to  find  her,  for 
about  an  hour  and  a  half  ago  I  saw  her  come  out  into  the 
grounds,  and  she  never  goes  in  till  the  lamps  are  lighted." 

An  anxious  look  clouded  for  an  instant  Dr.  G  rey's  countenance, 
but  undaunted  hope  sang  on  of  the  hours  of  hallowed  communion 
that  ths  future  held,  while  in  her  invalid  condition  he  assumed 
iho  care  and  guardianship  of  his  beloved ;  and,  turning  into  the 
lawn,  he  eagerly  searched  the  winding  walks  for  some  trace  of 
her,  some  flutter  of  her  garments,  some  faint,  subtle  odor  of 
orange-flowers  or  tube-roses. 

Here  and  there  clusters  of  purple,  pink,  and  orange  cJirysan 
themums  flecked  the  lawn  with  color;  and  a  flowei-stamL 
covered  with  china  jars  that  held  geraniums,  seemed  almost  *, 
pyramid  of  flame,  from  tus  profusion  of  scarlet  blooms. 

The  sun  ha<:  gone  d^wn  belaud  the  waving  line  of  low  liilia, 
9.  here,  — 


466  UNTIL  DSATH  OS  DO  PART. 

4  Thinned  to  amber,  rimmed  with  surer, 

Clouds  in  the  distance  dwell. 
Clouds  that  are  cool,  for  all  their  color, 

Pure  as  a  rose-lipped  shell. 
Fleets  of  wool  in  the  upper  heavens 

Gossamer  wings  unfurl ; 
Sailing  so  high  they  seem  but  sleeping 

Over  yon  bar  of  pearl " 

Still  as  crystal  was  the  sapphire  sea  that  mirrored  ;hat  quiet, 
sapphire  sky,  and  not  a  murmur,  not  a  ripple,  stirred  thf 
evening  air  or  tha  yellow  sands  that  stretched  for  miles  along 
the  winding  coast. 

When  Dr.  Grey  had  partially  crossed  the  lawn,  he  glancet! 
towards  the  marble  temple  that  gleamed  against  the  dark  back 
ground  of  deodars,  and  saw  a  woman  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the 
tomb.  Softly  he  approached  and  entered  the  mausoleum  by  an 
arch  on  the  opposite  side;  but,  notwithstanding  his  cautious 
tread,  he  startled  a  white  pigeon  that  had  perched  on  the  altar, 
where  fresh  violets,  heliotrope,  and  snowy  sprigs  of  nutmeg- 
geranium  were  leaning  over  the  scallopped  edge  of  the  Venetian 
glasses,  and  distilling  perfume  in  their  delicate  chalices. 

Mrs.  Carlyle  had  brought  her  floral  tribute  to  the  sepulchral 
urn,  and,  having  carefully  arranged  her  daily  Arkja,  had  seated 
herself  on  the  steps  to  rest. 

From  the  two  sentinel  poplars  that  guarded  the  front,  golden 
leaves  were  sifting  down  on  the  marble  floor,  and  three  or  four 
had  drifted  upon  the  lap  of  the  quiet  figure,  while  one,  bright 
and  rich  as  autumn  gilding  could  make  it,  rested  like  a  crown 
on  the  silver  waves  that  covered  her  head. 

Down  the  shining  steps  trailed  the  folds  of  the  white  merino 
robe,  and  around  her  shoulders  was  wrapped  the  blue  crap« 
shawl,  while  a  cluster  c?  violets  seemed  to  hrtve  slipped  from 
h.er  fingers,  and  strewed  themselves  at  random  on  her  dress. 

Softly  Dr.  Grey  drew  near,  and  his  voice  was  tremulously 
tender,  as  he  said, — 

"  Mrs.  Carlyle,  no  barrier  divides  us  now." 

She  did  not  speak,  or  turn  her  queenly  head,  and  he  laid  his 
hand  caressingly  on  the  glistening  gray  hair 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAUL  467 

"My  darling,  my  first  and  only  love  —  my  bra\s  wuatifu) 
'  Agla,'  may  I  not  tell  you,  at  last,  what  confc-cience  once  lorbada 
roy  uttering  ?  " 

As  motionless  ami  silent  as  the  sculptured  poppies  above  her, 
die   took  no  notice  of  his  passionate  pleading,   and  he 
lown.  one  step  directly  in  front  of  her. 

The  white  face  *vas  turned  to  the  sea,  and  the  laige, 
vonderfally  lovely  yet  mournful  gray  eyes  were  gazing  fixedly 
across  the  waste  of  water,  at  a  filmy  cloud  as  line  as  lace,  that 
like  a  silver  netting  caught  the  full  October  moon  which  was 
lifting  itself  in  the  pearly  east. 

The  long  black  lashes  did  not  droop,  nor  the  steady  eyea 
waver,  and  with  a  horrible  foreboding  Dr.  Grey  seized  her 
hands.  They  were  rigid  and  icy.  He  stooped,  caught  her  to 
his  bosom,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  but  they  were  colder 
than  the  marble  column  against  which  she  leaned ;  for,  o»«  hour 
before,  V'ashii  Carlyle  had  fronted  her  God. 

Alone  in  the  autumn  evening,  sitting  there  with  the  golden 
poplar  leaves  drifting  over  her,  the  desolate  woman  had  held  her 
last  communion  with  the  watching  ocean  that  hushed  its  mur 
muring,  to  see  her  die ;  and,  laying  down  the  galling  burden  of 
her  sunless,  drea.  y  life,  she  had  joyfully  and  serenely  "put  on 
immortality"  in  that  everlasting  rest,  where  "the:-e  was  no 
more  sea,  no  mure  death,  neither  shall  there  be  any  mere  p&in, 
for  the  former  things  are  passed  away." 

All  I   beautiful  and  holy  was  — 

44  That  peaceful  face  wherein  all  past  (Estreat 
Had  melted  into  periect  loveliness." 


UJSTIL   DEATH  US  DO  PART. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

ll-ENCE  that  October  day  when  IJlpian  Grey  «it  on  thf 
steps  of  tho  tomb,  holding  in  his  arms  the  boaulifiJ 

J  /  o 

white  form,  whom  in  life  God  had  denied  him  Lh«" 
privilege  of  touching,  six  months  had  drifted  slowly;  yet  tiiuj 
had  not  softened  the  blow,  that,  while  almost  crushing  his 
tender,  unselfish  heart,  had  no  power  to  shake  the  faith  which 
was  so  seciirely  anchored  in  Christ. 

Among  the  papers  found  in  Mrs.  Carlyle's  desk  was  one  con 
taining  the  request  that  Dr.  Grey  would  superintend  the  erection 
of  a  nandsome  monument  over  the  remains  of  her  husband, 
whenever  and  wherever  he  chanced  to  die;  and  her  will  pro 
vided  that  her  fortune  should  be  appropriated  as  the  nucleus  of 
a  relief  fund  for  indigent  painters. 

Her  own  pictures,  to  which  she  had  carefully  affixed  in  deli 
cate  violet  ciphers  the  name  "  Agla,"  she  directed  placed  on 
exhibition  in  a  New- York  gallery,  and  ultimately  sold  for  the 
benefit  of  the  orphans  of  artists.  To  Robert  she  bequeathed  a 
gum  sufficient  to  maintain  him  in  ease  and  comfort ;  and  to  Dr. 
Grey  her  escritoire,  piano,  books,  and  the  sappliire  ring  she  had 
Always  worn. 

The  latter  was  found  in  the  silver  casket,  and  had  been  folded 
1  a  a  sheet  of  paper  containing  these  words,  — 

**  According  to  the  teachings  of  the  Buddhists,  '  the  sapphir® 
produces  equanimity  and  peace  of  ir.ind,  as  well  as  affording 
protection  against  envy  and  treachery.  It  produces  also  prayer 
and  reconciliation  with  the  Godhead,  and  brings  more  peaes 
than  any  other  gem  of  necromancy ;  but  he  wlio  would  wear  it 
rnuft  lead  a  pure  a*vl  holy  lifeS  Finding  my  sapphire  asp 
aiockingiy  inefficacious  in  its  traditional  talismanic  powers,  1 
conclude  that  my  melancholy  career  has  been  a  violation  of 
the  stipulated  condition,  and  therefore  bequeath  i  to  the  oiib 
human  being  whom  i  deem  worthy  to  wear  it  with  ar.v  hope  oi 
success." 


UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART.  409 

While  awaiting  orders  from  tho  naval  department.  Dr.  Grey 
purchased  "Solitude,"  whither  he  removed,  with  Muriel  and 
Miss  Dexte*-,  and  temporarily  established  himself,  until  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Grauville. 

Immodiately  after  her  return  from  Europe,  Salome  invested  a 
ortijii  of  Mr.  Minge's  legacy  in  the  site  of  the  old  mill  thai 
,-itf.d  fallen  to  ruin.  Here  she  built  a  small  but  tasteful  cottage 
,/f'n*  on  the  spot  where  her  fall. -r  hud  died,  and  here,  with  Jessie 
and  Stanley,  she  proposed  to  spend  her  winters;  while  Mark 
and  Joel  were  placed  at  the  "Grus.smere  Farm,"  a  mile  distant, 
and  entrusted  with  its  management  until  the  younger  children 
should  attain  their  majority. 

Too  proud  to  accept  the  home  which  Dr.  Grey  had  tendered 
her,  Salome  was  earnestly  endeavoring  to  imitate  the  noble 
example  of  self-abnegation  that  lifted  him  so  far  above  all  others 
whom  she  had  ever  known;  and  the  most  precious  hope  of  her 
life  was'  to  reach  that  exalted  excellence  which  alone  could 
compel  his  admiration  and  respect. 

From  the  day  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  death,  the  orphan  had  been  a 
comparatively  happy  woman,  for  jealousy  could  not  invade  or 
desecrate  the  grave  and  its  harmless  sleeper;  and  Salome  fer 
vently  thanked  God,  that,  since  she  \vas  denied  the  blessing  of 
Dr.  Grev's  love,  at  least  sue  had  been  spared  the  torture  of  seeing 
him  the  fond  husband  of  another. 

Time  had  deepened,  b"t  re'ined,  purified,  and  consecrated 
her  unconquerable  affection  for  the  only  man  who  had  evt-,r 
commanded  her  reverence,  and  whose  <;uiet  influence  had  wo 
happily  remoulded  her  wayward,  ticry  nnture. 

There  were  seasons  when  the  old  elcmenr  of  innate  pervt-rsilr 
re-asserted  itself,  but  the  steady  reproving  ;.;;  /e  of  his  clear,  true 
"yes,  or  the  warning  touch  of  his  hand  oa  her  head,  had  sullieed 
:c  still  the  rising  storm. 

Conscientiously  the  passionate,  exacting  woman  was  striving 
;:-o  oring  her  heart  and  life  into  subjection  t/>  tho  lav.-,  --into 
i>-;nforniity  with  the  precepts  of  Christ  ;  and  though  she  was  ini 
:>ulsive,  proud  Salome  still,  —  the  glaring  I  lemi'vhea  in  her  oW 
>i:'ter  vvere  gradually  disappearing. 
40 


470  UNTIL  DEATH   US  DO  PART. 

One  oright  balmy  spring  morning  previous  to  the  aay  ajv 
pointful  for  Muriel's  marriage,  and  for  her  guardian's  departure 
for  the  fle«t  in  Asiatic  waters,  where  he  had  been  assigned  to 
duty,  13  r.  Grey  drove  up  the  avenue  of  elms  a  ad  maples  that 
kxl  to  Salome's  pretty  villa;  and  as  he  ascended  the  steps,  Jesau 
•"{ '."Bag  into  his  arms,  and  almost  smothered  him  with  caresses. 

"  Oh,  doctor!  something  so  wonderful  has  happened,  —  you 
aover  could  guess,  and  I  am  as  happy  as  a  bee  in  a  woodbine. 
Bister  will  tell  you." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  In  the  parlor,  -waiting  for  you." 

The  child  ran  off  to  join  Stanley,  who  was  trying  a  new  pony 
in  the  yard,  and  Dr.  Grey  went  into  the  cool  fragrant  room5 
which  was  fitted  up  with  more  taste  than  in  earlier  years  he 
would  have  ascribed  to  its  owner. 

Salome  sat  before  the  open  piano,  and  at  his  entrance  raised 
her  face,  which  had  been  bowed  almost  to  the  ivory  keys. 

"  Good  morning,  Dr.  Grey.  I  am  glad  you  have  come  to  re 
joice  with  me,  and  I  was  just  thanking  God  for  the  unexpected 
restoration  of  my  voice.  Once  when  it  seemed  so  necessary  to 
me,  He  suddenly  took  it  from  me ;  and  now,  when  it  is  a  mere 
luxury  to  own  it,  He  as  unexpectedly  gives  it  to  me  once  more. 
Verilv  — strange  as  it  may  appear,  my  voice  is  really  better 

than  when  Professor  V pronounced  it  the  iirst  contralto  in 

Kurope." 

She  had  risen  to  greet  him,  and  as  he  retained  her  hand  in 
his,  she  stood  close  to  him,  looking  earnestly  into  his  face. 

There  were  tears  hanging  like  tremulous  dewdrops  on  the 
)cng  jet  tinder-lashes, — and  the  bright  red  in  her  polished 
cheeks,  and  the  crimson  curves  of  her  parted  lips  made  a  picture 
pleasant  to  con  template. 

"  My  deai  child,  I  do  indeed  cordially  congratulate  you.  God 
saw  that  your  voice  might  possibly  prove  a  snare  and  a  curse^ 
by  ministering  to  false  pride  and  exaggerated  vanity,  and  in 
mercy  and  wisdom  He  temporarily  deprived  you  of  an  instru 
ment  that  threatened  you  with  danger.  Now  ^hat  you  are 
stronger,  more  prudent,  and  patient,  He  trusts  you  again  with 


UNTIL  DEATH  US  DO  PAKT.  471 

one  of  the  choicest  blessings  that  can  be  conferred  on  a  woman, 
¥  ou  have  deserved  to  recover  it,  and  1  joyfully  unite  my  thanks 
with  yours.  Let  me  hear  your  voice  once  more." 

Ti  era  bling  with  excess  of  happiness,  she  sat  down  and  sang 
ftx-iingly,  eloquently,  her  favorite  "  0  man  Fernand;"  and, 
**  he  listened,  .Dr.  Grey  looked  almost  wonderingly  at  the 
K-iiutiful  flashing  face,  that  had  never  seemed  half  so  radiant 
isefore.  There  was  marvellous  witchery  in  ber  rich  round  ilex 
il>]tf  tones,  that  wound  into  the  ho!  y-of-hohes  of  the  man's  gi-eat 
heart,  and  elevated  his  thoughts  above  the  dross  and  dust  of 
earth. 

When  she  ended,  he  placed  his  soft  palm  tenderly  on  her 
head,  and  smoothed  the  glossy  hair. 

"  1  thank  you  inexpressibly.  Sometimes  when  sad  memories 
oppress  me,  how  I  shall  long  to  have  you  charm  them  away  by 
that  magical  spell  that  bears  my  thoughts  from  this  world  to  the 
next.  There  are  some  songs  which  you  must  learn  for  my 


All  I  at  that  moment,  as  she  stood  there  robed  in  a  soft  stain- 
leas  white  muslin,  with  a  cluster  of  double  pomegranate  flowera 
glowing  in  her  silky  hair,  the  girl  was  very  lovely,  very  attrac 
tive,  so  full  of  youthful  grace,  so  winning  in  her  beautiful 
enthusiasm,  —  yet  Ulpian  Grey's  heart  did  not  wander  for  an 
tr»*taut  from  one  who  slept  dreamlessly  under  the  sculptured 
•»_  d  on  the  marble  altar  of  the  mausoleum. 

"Why  are  the  dead  not  dead  ?     Who  can  undo 
What  time  hath  done  ?     Who  can  win  back  the  wind  ? 
Beckon  lost  music  from  a  broken  lute  ? 
Renew  the  redness  of  a  lant  year's  rose  ? 
Or  dig  the  sunken  sunset  from  the  deep  ?  " 

u  Di,  Grey,  if  my  voice  can  chase  away  one  vexing  thought 
T.e  wearying  care  or  melancholy  memory,  I  shall  feel  that  I 
s.avo  additional  reason  to  thank  God  for  the  precious  gift." 

''I  have  not  seen  you  look  so  happy  for  three  years.  Indeed, 
iiiy  little  sister,  you  have  much  for  which  to  be  grateful,  and  in 
the  midst  of  your  blessings  try  to  recollect  those  grand  words  of 


472  UNTIL  DEATH   U8  DO  PART. 

Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus,  '  The  soul  is  a  God  in  exile.' 
My  child,  look  to  it  that  your  expatriation  ends  wi*ix  the  short* 
of  time,  for  — 

1  Yea,  this  Is  life ;  make  this  forenoon  sublime, 
This  afternoon  a  psalm,  this  night  a  prayer, 
And  time  is  conquered,  and  thy  crown  is  •won,'" 

For  Borne  seconds  Salome  did  not  speak,  for  the  shadow  ou 
his  countenance  fell  upon  her  heart,  and  looking  reverently  up 
at  him,  she  thought  of  Richter's  mournful  dictwm,  — "  Great 
souls  attract  sorrows,  as  mountains  tempests." 

"  Dr.  Grey,  want  of  patience  is  the  cause  of  half  my  diffi 
culties  and  defeats,  and  plunges  me  continually  into  the  slough 
of  distrust  and  rebellious  questioning.  I  find  it  so  hard  to 
stand  still,  and  let  God  do  his  will,  and  work  in  his  own  way." 

"  My  dear  Salome,  patience  is  only  practical  faith,  and  the 
want  of  it  causes  two-thirds  of  the  world's  woes.  I  often  find 
it  necessary  to  humble  my  own  pride,  and  tame  my  restless 
spirit  by  recurring  to  the  last  words  of  Schiller,  '  Calmer  and 
calmer!  many  difficult  things  are  growing  plain  and  clear  to  me. 
Let  us  be  patient.'  Child,  sing  me  one  song  more,  and  then 
come  out  and  show  me  where  you  propose  to  place  those  grape 
arbors  we  spoke  of  yesterday.  This  is  the  last  opportunity  1 
shall  have  to  direct  your  workmen.' 

An  hour  later  Salome  fastened  a  sprig  of  Grand  Duke  jaa- 
mine  in  the  button-hole  of  his  coat,  —  shook  hands  with  him  fo* 
the  day,  and  though  she  smiled  in  recognition  of  his  final  'xyw 
as  he  drove  down  the  avenue,  her  thoughts  were  busy  with  tlis 
dreaded  separation  that  awaited  her  on  the  morrow,  and, 
her  lips  were  mute,  the  cry  of  her  heart  was,  — 

"  O  Beloved,  it  is  plai^a 
I  am  not  of  thy  worth,  nor  for  thy  place. 
And  yet  because  I  love  thoe.  I  obtain 
From  that  same  love  this  vindicating'  grace, 
To  live  on  still  in  love,  —  and  yet  in  vain, — 
To  bles*  thee,  yet  renounce  thee  to  thy  faoa  ~* 


UNTIL  1JKA.TJI   US  DO  FART. 

2>r.  Grey  spent  the  remainder  of  the  day  in  visiting  his  pa- 
tisats,  and  as  he  rode  from  cottage  to  hovel,  bidding  adieu  tc 
those  whose  lives  had  so  often  been  committed  to  his  professional 
guardianship,  he  was  received  with  tearful  eyes,  and  trembling 
hands;  and  numerous  benedictions  were  invoked  upon  bis  head. 

Silver  threads  were  beginning  to  weave  an  aureola  in  hia 
&eHtn'jt  hair,  and  the  smooth  white  forehead  showed  incipient 
farrows,  but  the  deep  blue  ej  es  were  as  tranquil  and  trusting  as 
of  yore,  and  full  of  tenderer  light  for  the  few  he  loved,  for 
all  in  suffering  and  bereavement. 

"With  a  sublime  and  increasing  faith  in  the  overruling  wisdom 
and  mercy  of  God,  he  patiently  and  hopefully  bore  his  loneliness 
und  grievous  loss,  —  comforting  himself  with  the  assurance 
that,  "the evening  of  life  brings  with  it  its  lamp;"  and  looking 
eagle-eyed  across  the  storm-drenched  plain  of  the  present  te 
file  gleaming  jasper  walls  of  the  Eternal  Beyond. 

';  My  wine  has  run 

Indeed  out  of  my  cup,  aud  there  is  none 
To  gather  up  the  bread  of  my  repast 
Scattered  and  trampled,  —  yet  I  find  «onie  good 
In  earth's  green  herbs,  and  streams  that  bubble  up, 
Clear  from  the  darkling  ground,  — content  until 
I  sit  with  .angels  before  bettor  food. 
Dear  Christ !  when  thy  new  vintage  lills  rny  cup. 
This  hand  shall  shake  no  more,  nor  that  wine  t»p:I!, *• 


NEW  AND  SUCCESSFUL,  BOOKS. 


SIR  HENRY  MORGAN-BUCCANEER 

By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady.  Author  of  "  For  Love  of  Country," 
"For  la1,  Freedom  of  tiie  Si  a,"  "The  Southerners,"  etc.,  etc. 
Morgan  was  1  u,-  most  r'nnarkable  of  all  buccaneers.  The  author 
shows  his  ferocity  ami  eru  hy,  and  depicts  him  without  lighten 
ing  til.;  dirk  shadow.--  of  his  character.  Yet  ui  the  sain.'  time  h.; 
brings  out  th '  m::'rs  dauntless  c»nrag",  his  military  abiiitv,  }\\  •, 
absolut '  disregard  of  od  i~,  his  wonderful  capacity  as  a  sail.,-, 
hi-;  feriiiifv  and  resourcefulness,  which  awaken  our  admiration 
in  spu  '  of  ours  'ives.  lie  is  shown,  a  real,  pirate,  just  as  he  was  — 
great  a'i'l  brave,  small  a.nd  mean,  skillful  and  cruel,  and  the  great 
l-'ssou  of  the  story  is  one  of  just  retribution,  in  the  awful  punish- 
in  -nt  tint  is  finally  -li.-ifd  upon  him,  by  those  whom  he  so  fcar- 
i'ulh'a'i  1  t'  rriliiv  wronged.  Profusely  illustrated  from  drawings 
by  J.  IT.  March'and  and  \7iil  Crawford.  12ino.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

BECAUSE  OF  POWER 

By  Ella  Stryker  Mapes.  It  is  a  novel  attractively  presenting  the 
counterpoise  of  character  and  fate.  Broad  in  conception  and 
tni"  i'i  ton  •,  the  story  is  handled  with  distinct  style.  The  spark 
of  life  glows  on  every  page,  the  atmosphere  is  vital — electrified 
by  til'  qui'-'k  Mill];  cunvnts  of  humaniiv. 

Hamilton  \V.  M:.')i  -  says  of  it:  "There  is  a  great  deal  of  vitality 
in  it,  an  amount  of  passion  that  gives  it  color,  movement  and  go, 
quite  unusual  in  stories  from  the  pen  of  American  women."  12mo. 
Cloth  bound.  Illustrated  by  Latimer  ].  Wilson,  $1.50. 

THE  ROOM  WITH  THE  LITTLE   DOOR 

By  Roland  B.  Molineux.  First  edition,  '2r,,nO()  copies.  A  story 
'that  will  be  read  with  the  deepest,  interest.  Original,  absorbing, 
and  abounding  in  heart  interest  Of  good  education  and  artistic 
t'-'inp'-rament,  no  condemned  man  in  America  was  ever  better 
able  to  portnv  th"  remarkable  delineations  at  Shur  Sing,  where, 
as  he  wrote,  death  itself  was  the  shadow  of  his  pencil,  reminding 
us  of  "Th"  Count  of  Monte  Cristo"  and  of  "The  M:u,  in  Mr  Iron 
Mask."  Size  5  x  7  inches,  beautifully  bound  in  cloth,  .•.'.'•!.-/>. 

THE  VICE-ADMIRAL  OF  THE  BLUE 

By  Roland  Burnhaai  Molineux.  Author  of  "The  Koom  with 
the  Litth  Door."  An  historical  romance  dealing  in  a  new  an  i 
absorbing  mann-f  with  the  famous  love  affairs  of  Lord  Nelsi.n 
and  Ladv  Hamilton.  Th"  story  opens  in  Naples,  and  gives  a 
gr/inhie  picture  of  court  life  in  (lie  gavest  of  monarchies,  in  the 
days  immeflialely  fo!!ov:ing  t'ne  BaUli-  of  the  Nile.  The  storv 
carries  the  readc-r  to  Si.-ily,  to  Le.ndon,  when'  glimpses  are  had  of 
the  ]),".;!„  nionde  and  the  old  time  tavern  life,  and  later  to  the 
oxtf-rHed  country  honvs  of  the  England  of  that  time.  12mo. 
cloth  bound.  Illustrated,  Sl.-r>0. 


JOHN  HENRY.    (i25th  Thousand) 

By  Hugh  McHugh.  '"John  Henry'  has  just  'butted'  its  way  in 
between  the  literary  bars  and  capered  over  the  book  counters  to 
the  tune  of  12,000  copies  before  its  publishers  could  recover  their 
breath. 

"  Every  page  is  as  catchy  as  a  bar  from  a  popular  song. 

"The  slang  is  as  correct,  original  and  smart  as  the  newest  hand 
shake  from  London. 

"In  the  lottery  of  humorous  books  'John  Henry'  seems  to  ap 
proximate  the  capital  prize." — .V.  Y.  Journal. 

"All  who  have  laughed  over  'Billy  Baxter'  will  heartily  enjoy 
this  book." — The  Bookseller,  Newsdealer  and  Stationer.  Cloth 
bound,  75  cents. 


DOWN  THE  LINE  WITH  JOHN  HENRY.  (8oth  Thou 
sand) 

By  the  author  of  "John  Henry,"  etc.  This  is  the  second  of  the 
"John  Henry"  books  and  quickly  followed  its  predecessor  along 
the  high  road  of  success.  The  story  of  "  At  the  Races "  has 
already  grown  to  be  a  Classic  in  .Slang.  It  is  brimful  of  human 
nature,  and  is  amusing  in  the  highest  degree.  Illustrated, 
attractively  bound,  75  cents. 


IT'S  UP  TO  YOU.     (soth  Thousand) 

By  the  author  of  "  John  Henry,"  "  Down  the  Line,"  etc.  A  bright, 
new  story  by  Hugh  McHugh,  detailing  the  adventures  of  his 
widely  known  hero,  who,  after  a  spirited  courtship,  is  married 
and  tries  to  settle  down.  His  efforts  along  these  lines  are  de 
tailed  with  much  humor.  This  will  be  one  continuous  story. 
Illustrated,  attractively  bound,  75  cents. 


BACK  TO  THE  WOODS.     (40 th  Thousand) 

By  the  author  of  "John  Henry,"  "  Down  the  Line,"  "It's  Up  to 
You,"  etc.  This  new  "John  Henry"  book  is  really  the  best  of 
the  four.  It  is  a  complete,  story  in  seven  chapters,  further  por 
traying  the  fortunes  and  misfortunes  of  John  Henry,  Clara  Jane, 
Uncle  Peter,  Bunch,  Aunt  Martha  and  Tacks.  Illustrations  by 
Gordon  Grant.  Cloth  bound,  75  cents. 


OUT  FOR  THE  COIN.     (First  Edition  Sept.,  1903) 

By  the  author  of  "John  Henry,"  "Down  the  Line  with  John 
'Henry,"  "It's  Up  to  You,"  "Back  to  the  Woods,"  which  com 
bined,  have  reached  a  sale  of  OArer  240,000  copies.  "  Out  for  the 
Coin"  is  another  "Crackerjack  Volume  of  Comedy"  in  which 
John  Henry  and  his  delightful  friends  find  a  new  field  for  their 
stirring  and  amusing  adventures.  Illustrated  from  drawings  by 
Gordon  Grant.  Cloth,  gilt  top,  75  cents. 


A  COIN  OF  EDWARD  VII 

13}-  Fergus  Hume.  The  Nashville  American  says:  "It  has  an 
attraction  that  borders  on  fascination.  This  story  is  in  Fergus 
Hume's  best  style,  and  is  particularly  noted  for  the  ingenuity 
ot  its  construction  and  skill  of  working  out  details."  12rno  doth 
bound,  Si. 25. 

A  SPECKLED  BIRD.     (Fourth  Edition) 

By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson.  125th  thousand.  "It  is  a  pic-re  of 
work  far  better  than  many  of  the  'best  selling  novels'  of  recent 
seasons.  Mrs.  Wilson  proves  that  she  is  a  vigorous  and  a!:ie 
veteran  of  letters,  and  it  wi'i  be  welcomed  by  all  the  quondam 
admirers  of  'St.  Elmo.'  They  are  legion."— Eleanor  M.  L'oyt, 
in  The  ttoo];.  liui/cr. 

"Far  above  the  average  work  of  Fiction." —Louisville  Courier 
Journal. 

'How  absolutely  sweet  and  clean  and  wholesome  is  the  atmos 
phere  of  the  story:  It  conld  not  be  anything  else  and  come 
from  her  pen." — Brooklyn  Emjlc.  12mo,  cloth  bound,  ?1.-C0. 

THE  CROMPTONS.     (Fourth  Edition) 

By  Mary  J.  Holmes.  ''Whoever  open  the  pages  of  'The  Cromp- 
tons'  will  find  in  it  the  elements  which  have  made  popular  this 
author's  thirty  odd  stories  and  carried  iier  name,  a  household 
word,  to  millions  of  readers."  Nashrtllc  American. 

"Her  novel:;  circulate  by  the  hur.dreds  of  thousands,  and  her  name 
is  conjuri'd  with  where  the  literary  aristocrats  are  never  heard 
of." — Rochester  Herald.  Handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  $1.00. 

THE  KISS  OF  GLORY.     (Third  Edition) 

By  Grace  Duffle  Boylan.  A  narrative  of  the  life  of  Joseph,  the  son 
of  Jacob.  His  captivity,  release  :md  love  life. 

One  of  tlv  greatest  stories  in  all  literature,  wholly  human  in  the 
elemental  passions  exhibited.  II  is  a  powerful  portrayal.  Mrs. 
Boylari  has  been  fortunate  in  imagining  a  nassion  in  entire  keep 
ing  with  the  oriental  surroundings  which  give  the  book  as  a  whole 
its  fine  exotic  flavor." — ('.hico'io  Anirrirtni. 

Illustrations,  cover  design  and  poster  by  J.  C.  Leyendecker.  Hand 
somely  bound  in  cloth,  12mo,  $1.50. 

THE  DAY  OF  PROSPERITY,  a  Vision  of  the  Century 
to  Come 

By  Paul  Devinne.  A  vivid,  startling  and  original  picture  of  a  re 
constructed  world,  a  novel  with  an  ingenious  plot,  and  a  spark 
ling  and  fantastic  story  of  life  in  tlr-  vear  2000.  A  solution  of 
to-day's  most  mooted  problems;  differing  fnvn  Bellamy  and 
kindred  thinkers,  though  following  somewhat  similar  lines, 
very  engrossing  novel,  with  humanly  sympathetic  characters. 
Cloth  bound,  $1.50. 


NORMAN  HOLT,  a  Story  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumber 
land 

By  General  (Capt.)  Charles  King.  "No  more  charming  historic 
war  story  has  ever  been  written.  It  is  Captain  King's  best,  and 
bearing,  as  it  does,  on  the  great  battle  of  Mission  Ridge,  although 
the  story  is  woven  in  fiction,  it  adds  an  invaluable  record  of  that 
gigantic  contest  between  the  two  great  armies. 

"  The  characters  are  real,  their  emotions  natural,  and  the  romance 
that  is  interwoven  is  delightful.  It  is  wholesome  and  one  of 
General  King's  best,  if  not  his  best,  book." — N.  Y.  Journal. 

"  From  the  first  chapter  to  the  last  page  the  interest  of  the  reader 
never  fags.  General  King  has  written  no  more  brilliant  or  stir 
ring  novel  than  '  Norman  Holt.'" — N.  Y.  Press.  Illustrated, 
cloth  bound,  SI. 25. 

THE    IRON   BRIGADE,  a  Story   of  the   Army   of   the 
Potomac.     (Fourth  Edition) 

By  General  Charles  King.  Illustrations  by  R.  F.  Zogbauin.  In 
choosing  the  subject  of  this  story  General  King  has  taken  one  of 
the  most  gallant  and  heroic  organizations  of  the  Civil  War,  and 
woven  around  it  many  intensely  interesting  historic  scenes. 
Sketches  of  Lincoln,  Stanton,  Grant,  Meade  and  other  prominent 
characters  of  the  time  lend  much  to  the  holding  power  of  the 
story.  Illustrated.  Cloth  bound,  SI. 50. 

DENSLOW'S    NIGHT    BEFORE    CHRISTMAS,    (soth 
Thousand) 

The  old  classic  story,  illustrated  by  W.  W.  Denslow.  Here  is  the 
best  Christmas  story  ever  told.  The  man  is  yet  to  be  born  who 
can  write  anything  to  supersede  what  has  made  St.  Nicholas  and 
his  tiny  reindeer  living  and  breathing  realities  to  millions  of 
children  throughout  the  world. 

Embellished,  as  it  is,  with  the  whimsical  humor  of  Mr.  Denslow's 
inimitable  drawings,  produced  in  colors  by  the  most  beautiful 
printing,  it  will  eclipse  ail  other  juvenile  picture  books  of  the 
year.  A  large  quarto,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth  or  illumin 
ated  board  cover,  $1.50. 

DENSLOW'S   ONE  RING  CIRCUS,  and  Other  Stories, 
containing: 

One  Ring  Circus,       5  Little  Pigs,  A  B  C  Book, 

Zoo,  Tom  Thumb,          Jack  and  the  Bean-stalk. 

The  six  bound  in  cloth,  decorative  cover,  SI. 25. 

DENSLOW'S  HUMPTY  DUMPTY,   and  Other  Stories, 
containing: 

Humptv  Dumrtty  Mary  had  a  Little  Lamb 

Little  Red  Riding  Hood          Old  Mother  Hubbard 
The  Three  Bears  House  that  Jack  Built 

The  six  bound  in  cloth,  decorative  cover,  SI. 25. 


MR.   SHARPTOOTH,  a  Juvenile  Story  of  A  Bad 
and  A  Good  Boy 

By  Joe.  Kerr.  With  (>4  pages  of  beautiful,  four-color  pictur.  ; 
from  drawings  by  Robert  H.  Pcrteous. 

A  most  charming  and  attractive  juvenile  picture  Look.  Thestnrv 
itself  is  unique  in  conception,  tlie  drawings  are  beautiful  in  de 
sign,  and  are  both  humorous  and  patliol  ic/  First  edition,  10,0;;:) 
copies.  Quarto,  cloth  cover,  price,  81.2,1. 

ECCENTRICITIES   OF   GENIUS,  Memories  of  Famous 
Men  and  Women  of  the  Platform  and  Stage 

By  Major  J.  B.  Pond.  These  biographical  sketches  of  notable 
Orators,  Preachers,  and  Lecturers,  d'-seripuve  of  the  personal 
traits  of  character  of  the  many  noted  persons  who  have  publicly 
appeared  under  the  management  of  .Major  Pond,  are  thrillingly 
and  forcibly  told.  A  magnificent  octavo  volume  containing 
nearly  one  hundred  half-tone  portrait  illustrations.  Cloth 
bound,  S3. 50. 

UNDER  A  LUCKY   STAR,  a  New  Book  on  Astrology 
By  Charlotte  Abel!  Walker.     Tells  what  occupation  to  adopt,  and 
what  line  of  life  to  follow,  what  associates  and  partners  to  choose, 


minds  of  ancient  and  modern  philosophers.     Illustrated,  cloth 

bound.  Sl./JO. 

TRUE  DETECTIVE  STORIES 

From  the  Pink*  rt  on  Archives.  By  Cleveland  Moffett.  The  ab 
sorbing  stories  told  here  by  Mr.  Jloffet  are  statements  of  actual 
facts  repeated  without  exaggeration  or  false  coloring.  The 
author,  by  the  help  of  t  lie  Pinker!  on  Agency,  has  given  the  inside 
history  of  famous  cases  which  the  general  public  only  know  of 
through  newspaper  accounts.  Cloth  bound,  7~>  cents. 

IHE  COMPLETE  WORKS  OF  ARTEMUS  V/ARD 

By  Charles  Farrar  Brov/ne.  Wiih  a  biographical  sketch  of  the 
author  by  Melville  D.  Lanclon.  The  present  edition  is  of  a  work 
which  has  been  for  more  than  thirty  years  prominently  before 
tile  public,  and  which  maybe  justly 
a  standard  character.  ](,  is  i-;ued  k 
hc.flcr  edit io-i  than  has  ever  been  nub'i- 

Tn  order  to  supply  this  acknowledged 
enlarged  and  perfected  I  his  •  ditio  i 
heretofore  published  in  book"  form. 

A  lan>'"  12mo,  printed  from  new  (lectro  plates,  with  2S  full-page 
illustrations,  and  photogravure  portrait  <jf  the  author,  hand 
somely  bound  in  cloth,  gilt  top,  8-. 00. 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF  CAPTAIN  KETTLE 

By  Cutcliffe  Hyne.  The  best  sea  story  since  the  days  of  Marryat. 
Captain  Kettle  is  a  devil-may-care  sea  dog,  half  pirate  and  half 
preacher.  The  author  carries  him  through  many  hairbreadth 
escapes  and  makes  him  a  character  that  will  live  long  in  the 
annals  of  fiction.  The  success  of  this  book  is  marvelous.  Over 
80,000  copies  have  been  sold.  Illustrated.  Cloth  bound,  $1.50. 

A  MASTER  OF  FORTUNE,  Being  Further  Adventures 
of  "  Captain  Kettle" 

By  Cutclifife  Hyne.  "It  has  the  dash  and  tinge  of  reality  that 
makes  you  feel  as  if  you  were  in  the  midst  of  it  all."  Detroit 
Free  Press. 

"The  many  readers  who  followed  with  bated  breath  the  wild  ad 
ventures  of  Captain  Kettle  in  the  book  named  for  him,  will 
welcome  Cutcliffe  Hyne's  new  collection  of  tales  dealing  with 
that  remarkable  sea  dog.  The  volume  is  well  called  '  A  Master 
of  P'ortune.' " — Philadelphia  Press. 

"Nobody  who  has  followed  the  gallant  sailor — diminutive,  but  oh, 
my! — in  his  previous  adventures  around  the  earth,  is  going  to 
miss  this  red-hot  volume  of  marvelous  exploits." — A*.  Y.  Vvorld. 
Illustrated.  Cloth  bound,  SI. 50. 

THE  TWENTIETH  CENTURY  COOK  BOOK 

By  Mrs.  C.  F.  Moritz  and  Adele  Kahr.'.  A  modern  and  complete 
household  cook  book  such  as  this  is,  since  cooking  has  come  to  be 
a  science  no  less  than  an  art,  must  find  a  welcome  and  become  the 
most  popular  cook  book  of  all  the  many  now  published. 

"  It  can  hardly  be  realized  that  there  is  anything  worth  eating  that 
its  receipt  cannot  be  found  in  this  volume.  This  volume  has 
been  carefully  compiled  and  contains  not  only  the  receipts  for  an 
elaborate  menu,  but  also  the  modest  ones  have  been  considered." 
Book  and  Newsdealer.  Bound  in  oil  cloth,  for  kitchen  use,  §1.50. 

HIS  FRIEND  TEE  ENEMY 

By  Wm.  Wallace  Cook.  Author  of  "  Rogers  of  Butte,"  "  Little 
Miss  Vassar,"  etc. 

The  Detroit  Free  Press  says :  "  It  gives  a  graphic  story  built  round 
one  of  the  '  county-seat  wars'  that  have  been  actual  occurrences 
in  the  development  of  the  West.  The  story  is  well  furnished 
with  incident,  moves  with  a  rush,  and  gives  a  vivid  idea  of  some 
lively  times  out  in  the  Territories."  Cloth  bound.  Illustrated, 
$1.50. 


THE  PAGAN'S  CUP 

By  Fergus  Hume,  author  of  "The  Mystery  of  a  Hanson  Cab," 
"etc.  This  is  a  thrilling  detective  story,  in  which  the  interest 
and  mystery  is  well  sustained.  Cloth  bound,  $1.25. 


MAY  1  5  1986 


University  of  California 

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